


The life you can't deny us now

by MedeaV



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Just relationship building, M/M, Post-Avengers 4, lonely island, nothing much happens really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-05-17 18:33:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 50,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14836998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MedeaV/pseuds/MedeaV
Summary: The post-A4 fic before Avengers 4 even comes out. Steve, Natasha, Sam and Bucky go on a much-needed vacation and (try to) figure out some stuff. Not much more happening, really.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt by chujo-hime on tumblr was: Smutathon prompt: Reunion sex (any type of reunion - big reunions after being brainwashed, little reunions after completely a mission, anything)
> 
> Heavily inspired by blessedharlot's speculation (also on tumblr). I listened to Zack Hemsey- Fade away while writing the first chapter.

“What the fuck,” Bucky states. “Steve, why are you staring at me like that?”

“Seriously, man,” Sam chimes in. “I know you’re basically like a super large puppy, but are you really going to cry?”

“Shut up.” Steve tries to hold it together. “It’s just- We’ve been here- I’ve been here before. So many times.”

“Like, in Wakanda?” Sam asks. “Duh. Also, not that often.”

Steve takes Bucky’s hand and stares at it. Bucky gets more weirded out by the second. “No, look, we’ve been- we’ve been at this point before,” Rhodey explains. “We reversed time- infinity stone, really complicated, long story- basically we tried and tried again until it all worked out.”

“What?” Bucky asks uncomfortably. “What usually happens?”

“You turn to dust,” Steve whispers, still staring at Bucky’s hand, which is doing exactly nothing. “You walk onto this clearing and you say my name and then you turn to dust.”

“You’re in the bushes,” Rhodey says to Sam. “I call for you, but when I arrive, all that’s left is ashes.”

“Wow,” Sam says. “That sucks.”

Steve snorts, lets go of Bucky’s hand and wipes at his eyes. “Yeah. Sucks. Especially if you see it a gazillion times.”

“Cap, that’s almost a swear word,” Rhodey replies, tongue in cheek.

“So, you watched us die over and over again?” Bucky asks.

“Boy, it was more complicated than that,” Rhodey says. “But that’s what it felt like.”

“Wait, so- who survived? Originally?” Sam asks.

“Rhodes and me”, Steve replies. “Thor. Natasha. Bruce. General Okoye. Rocket. Some others, but not here.”

“Who’s Rocket?” Bucky repeats dumbfounded.

“The talking raccoon,” Rhodey explains. “You know, that one. There’s only one, really.”

“Natasha seems to take it all in stride,” Sam remarks.

Natasha is standing around, rubbing her ribs absent-mindedly. Steve snorts. “Yeah, just let her pretend she cares about none of you at all. And don’t talk about the fact that she moved heaven and earth to reverse it.”

“How rude.” Sam grins.

“That’s all some crazy shit, man,” Bucky adds.

“I still can’t believe it actually worked out,” Rhodey agrees. “I mean, we were desperate.”

“Let’s just- let’s just go back,” Steve mutters. “Find T’Challa.”

“Wait,” Bucky interrupts. “So T’Challa- T’Challa also died? Who ruled Wakanda then?”

“Who do you think?” Okoye replies out of nowhere.

Steve sighs. “Let’s just- let’s just get back.”

* * *

She’s in the kitchen.

It’s the middle of the night and everyone fell into bed a long time ago. They’re probably not all sleeping. Especially Steve. Too much happened.

But Natasha is up, making tea. Her hair is blonde. He wonders about that. She looks over briefly and goes back to rummaging through the cupboards.

He’s not sure whether he wanted to find her or not. He only knows how it turned out. Now he can just wait and see what happens next.

He crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. “So. I died.”

Natasha snorts. “Couple of times, yes.” She pulls a mug out of the cupboard and, after a moment of hesitation, a second one. “Nothing new for you.”

“I guess it’s different,” he says. “Turning to dust.”

She overplays a slight tremor in her hand by grabbing onto the counter. “Do you- remember?”

That could mean so goddamn many things. He decides not to push it. “Turning to dust? Kind of. It never happened, though, right?”

She shakes her head. “Not in this timeline.”

“But I remember it,” he insists. “You remember it.”

She turns her head to look away. “I do. Clear as day.”

“It seems like a dream to me.” He shakes his head. “A nightmare, maybe. It all seems like a dream.”

She turns back to him and whispers: “Better than this world?”

He sighs. “There is this place. It’s… not from this world. It’s orange, shallow water everywhere, like an oasis. Incredibly calm.”

She nods. “The Soul World.”

“That part really feels like a dream.” He approaches the counter where she’s leaning. “I was… happy. It felt weird, like I had forgotten how to… but I was happy. I remember that much.”

She looks up at him. He always forgets how short she is. “What made you happy?”

There’s a point where he can’t talk around it anymore, if he even wanted to. He sighs. “You were there.”

“Hm.” Her hands slide a little closer to him. The water starts boiling, somewhere, maybe in a different universe, in a parallel timeline. “Younger me?”

He looks at her stomach, her shoulder, her neck. “Before I ever hurt you.”

She nods, like everything makes sense. Or like she understands. “Simpler times?”

He snorts. “When was it ever simple?” He startles when the kettle turns itself off. “I guess- I knew it wasn’t real. In the back of my head. Like- just trying to hold on to something ephemeral, I guess.”

“Oh, do I know that feeling,” she mutters and pours the water into the mugs.

“It wouldn’t be the same,” he says. “We were different people, in a very different situation.”

“No,” she agrees. “It wouldn’t.”

“You were over ten years younger,” he continues. “You were so young, and so broken. And I- I’m not even sure I know who I am now.”

“You’ll figure it out,” she says. “Soon enough. It’s hard, but you will make it.”

“I didn’t know who I was back then either,” he states. “Maybe it doesn’t matter.”

“Maybe it doesn’t matter who we are or who we were,” Natasha says, putting the mugs away and stepping right in front of him. “Not right now, at least. Not here.”

His hand touches her hip so easily. Her blue eyes stay focused on his. There is no discomfort in her body, none at all. Her fingers reach around his forearm, the right one. “Just now?” he whispers.

“Just now,” she promises, and her left hand goes to the back of his neck and the next moment they’re a pulling mess of crashing lips, interwoven limbs and shared breath. No thinking. No comparisons. He lifts her onto the counter and she pulls him back to her, like a rubber band, crashing her body against his. There’s no past, no future. Just now. Just them.

Her hands are in his hair, while his grab her hips and pull her forward, without ever leaving an inch between their lips. She’s warm. He nestles at her shirt, but without enough dedication to pull it off. Instead he rips himself away from her lips and starts kissing down her neck. She groans and tugs him even further down. “Gosh, your hair is  _long_.”

He grins, biting her neck. “Like it?”

“It’s longer than mine,” Natasha replies, sounding almost complaining. “Yes. Don’t stop.”

He pulls at the neckline of her shirt but it won’t go far enough, so he just licks over her collarbone. She snorts and pushes him away to pull the whole shirt over her head, and he uses the opportunity to do the same. Of course she grabs his hair to pull him back, and the rubber band snaps again.

He grabs her ass to pull her off the counter so he can fiddle with the button of her pants. She slaps his hand away and does it herself, kissing him passionately, hand wrapped around his neck. One leg off and she’s back on the counter, not even bothering with the second one. Fine with him. He pushes her panties to the side and slides a human finger into her, crooking it immediately. She drops her chin against her neck, leaving his lips but keeping her forehead pressed against his. He can’t tear his eyes away from her face and the cracks of bliss when he pushes against a certain sweet spot.

The noises are something else entirely. She is getting tighter and her right hand is patting aimlessly around his crotch. His eyes fall closed, listening to her whimpering. He presses the flat of his hand against her and she starts moving her hips. All he can do is push and pull with his finger, and judging by her breathless moaning, he better do it hard and fast.

Her fingers dig into his thigh. Her wetness starts running from his finger down the rest of his hand. He opens his eyes to her biting her lip, eyes pressed shut. She clenches around his finger, once. Her back arches, sending her chest flying against his body. He keeps going.

A gasp rips her lips apart and then she clenches again, much harder, and suddenly she buckles all over, her whole upper body falling against him, face buried in his shoulder, his neck. He hooks his finger inside of her and pulls hard, making her tense and gasp again, and then he lets go.

She’s panting against his neck and he hesitantly wraps his left arm around her, pulling her even closer. She doesn’t do anything except breathe. He wishes it could always be like that. She is warm, even warmer than before. She feels boneless. Her legs are loose around his hips, but she holds up just fine when he takes a step back.

She’s just sitting there, eyes closed, half undressed, breathing. He rinses his hand, watching her. He wonders where she’s been, all those years. What she was doing, how she was coping. He wonders who she is now and what made her be that way.

She opens her eyes and all thoughts about the past fade away. The rubber band pulls him back. She studies his face while opening his pants. He can’t tell what she is thinking, if anything. He doesn’t ask and she doesn’t tell. He pushes his pants down and she raises her hip to slip her panties off on one side. He pulls her hips towards the edge of the counter and presses against her and then he’s already inside of her.

She sighs and he remembers that noise, distinctly, and he waits until she pulls at his right shoulder to start moving. His balls uncomfortably hit the counter, making him groan, and she pushes her left hand between them to take care of that. Her right arm drags him halfway onto her so she can bite his earlobe. He closes his eyes and tries to think of something else, anything else, but there is nothing but her.

She utters a breathless moan and pushes her hips a little more forward, resting mostly on her right elbow, and he fucks into her harder. She grins for a moment, fondling his balls, until another moan rips through. Her eyes are pressed shut. His right hand clenches into a fist, right next to her face. He leans forward, downward to devour everything her lips have to give.

The sound of skin hitting skin gets louder but he mostly hears her muffled mewling. He puts all his weight on his left arm, freeing the right one. He grabs her ass, first, then he somehow snakes his hand between them. Just holding it there, because the movement of his hips does the rest. Her head drops on the counter and her chest arches up.

Her hands both scramble to grab onto the edge of the counter, anchoring herself, and he barely has time to wish for her raking them all over his back before she seems to remember, digging the nails of her left hand into the skin over his shoulder blade, moaning, pulling. He tries to breathe, but it doesn’t matter, her chest is pressed against him, the fabric of her sports bra rubbing against his bare skin, her nails scratching over his back. Her right hand grips his metal shoulder, his waist, his ass, as if to assure herself that he is solid, that he is here.

He can barely hold it together anymore, moving just a little bit faster, and he’s not sure whether the sobbing noise comes from him or her or both of them. Doesn’t matter, he only feels her warm, wet tightness and the painful sensation of her nails drawing red lines over his back, and when she clenches, he loses it, coming while she pulses around him, barely hearing her moaning over the blood rushing through his ears. He collapses onto her before she is even fully through it, and that’s it.

He doesn’t move for several minutes, just listening to their slowing heartbeats, and when he does and sees her opening her eyes, he knows it was a mistake. She’s closing herself off again, already, before he is even off of her, and he sees it and knows that nothing he could say or do will make a difference. Just shutting everything, everyone out, as she knows how to do, as she was taught. He can only accept it and move on.

She cards her fingers through his hair, expression unreadable, but when she leans up and kisses him, it’s at least partly sincere. She studies his face, his eyes with a curious expression, and he wonders what she sees. Then she grabs the hair at the back of his neck and stares at the ceiling. “This never happened.”

It’s cold, even for her, but he nods anyway. It seems fair, given how much he has hurt her over the years, how much pain he caused her at every opportunity. He never expected more. Less, in fact.

He’s just moving to pull out of her, which seems like the only appropriate course of action, when someone on the other end of the room clears their throat, and he looks up and it’s Steve, standing just behind the open door, eyes directed pointedly at the ceiling. He steps back, plucking their clothing from the floor and wordlessly hands Natasha her shirt. She slips her other leg back into her panties and pants first before she pulls her shirt over her head while he’s still dealing with his belt. “It’s fine,” she says, carefully neutral. “Just go. Don’t worry.”

He looks over at Steve, who’s still pretending he doesn’t notice them at all, except for one quick side glance that hitches on his scarred metal shoulder. Natasha, fully dressed, hair perfectly back in place, throws tea bags into the mugs, with all the calm in the world. He pulls his shirt on, shrugs and decides to talk to Steve sometime else. He takes a mug of lukewarm tea and leaves.

Natasha puts sugar in her tea, which she never does, and stirs carefully before putting the spoon in the sink and moving around the counter, mug in hand. Steve snorts. “Ross was right. The nerve on you.”

“Look who’s talking,” Natasha returns coolly, sipping from her mug. “Been standing there for long?”

“ _No_ ,” Steve replies sourly. “Long enough, though.”

Natasha drags the tea bag carefully around. “Don’t tell anyone about this.”

“Are you kidding?” Steve asks incredulously. “That’s what’s most important to you right now?”

Natasha sighs. “Just… don’t.”

Steve snorts again. “What, you think I never noticed? All this time? I just didn’t know you were…  _that intimate_.”

“That’s over,” Natasha declares coldly. “That’s not me anymore.”

“Yeah, that certainly  _looked_  like you,” Steve returns sourly.

“We’re not picking up where we left off.” Natasha shakes her head. “I just… I wanted to go back. Just this once.”

“Sure, fine, whatever.” Steve rolls his eyes. “But did you have to do it in the  _kitchen_ , without even closing the door?”

“That’s your problem?” Natasha deadpans. “Decency?”

“I don’t know,” Steve answers honestly. “I don’t know if I even have a problem. You tell me.”

Natasha rubs at her eyes, sighing. “We’re different people now. I’ve changed so much and I don’t even know him anymore. And there is no way we can go back.”

“Okay,” Steve says. “And who said you had to?”

“Me,” Natasha answers honestly. “I wanted to go back. I wanted everything to be as it was, before all the pain and hurt came in between. But I know that’s impossible. So I just… grabbed onto what I could get.”

Steve sighs and leans next to her against the counter, arms crossed. “I mean, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t understand that. I’d have loved for Bucky and me to just continue our friendship like before the war. But I always knew that was delusional. We could never, even for a second, ignore the past 70 years. And I guess he was afraid that I expected him to be the same, and it took time and work to convince him otherwise and to build something new, and we’re probably not even there yet, but… I mean, you don’t have to throw out  _everything_  and start from scratch.”

Natasha snorts. “Yeah, I don’t know. That sounds exhausting.”

“Oh, come on,” Steve returns. “We just saved the world. Have you got anything else to do?”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “I just don’t know how it would turn out. And I hate uncertainty.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve says. “You don’t have to decide right away. In fact, you can take as long as you want to figure that out. And if you decided against it… I’m sure Bucky would understand that.”

“Yeah,” Natasha agrees slowly. “He probably would.”

“As for me,” Steve adds. “I’d be glad if you two could figure something out that does not consist of constantly avoiding each other.”

Natasha grins. “But, Steve, who the hell cares about you?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Thanks. And next time, for the love of God,  _close the door_.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has a horrible idea. Natasha plays the short card. Sam asks the important questions. Bucky pretends not to worry about everything.

He certainly didn’t expect her leaning next to his door when he comes back from his workout with Sam at night, and he says so. She grins and tilts her head. “Yeah. I was pretty rude to you.”

“Mhm, a bit,” he admits, pressing his right hand against the scanner. “Wanna come in?”

She nods and follows him. “Mhm. So, that’s where you’ve been staying?”

“Nope.” He puts his bag down and opens the fridge to pull out two bottles of beer. “I’ve been staying out of town. Only been here a few days. None of this stuff is mine.”

Natasha grins, takes the bottle and lifts herself onto the counter. “Then let’s not break anything, shall we?”

He eyes her up and down. “Do you sit there on purpose or…?”

“Maybe.” She grins and takes a sip. “So, did you talk to Steve?”

“Yeah.” He crosses his arms and leans against the opposite counter. “I don’t think he told me anything of what you talked about, though. If you were worried about that.”

“Ah, not really,” Natasha replies and leans back. “Anyway, I’m here now.”

“Yes, you are.” He takes a sip as well. “So what now?”

Natasha shrugs. “I don’t know. Wanna watch Netflix?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Are you doing that on purpose or is just everything in 21st century slang sexually connotated?”

Natasha grins and slips off the counter. “Come on, let’s do it. You even get to pick.”

 

“I’m probably making a monumental mistake here,” Steve sighs.

“No, time off sounds great,” Natasha disagrees. “We could all really use a break. So, where do you want to go?”

Steve snorts. “I’m not talking about the general idea. I’m talking about inviting  _ you two _ .”

“Oh, come on, Stevie,” Bucky interrupts. “It’s gonna be fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“I didn’t worry about it,” Steve stresses. “And then I walked into the kitchen and… well.”

“That was one time,” Natasha replies. “There’s nothing going on now.”

“Yeah, but there was nothing going on before,” Steve repeats. “And then the kitchen incident. So, it could basically change at any moment.”

“That’s not fair,” Bucky argues. “Yesterday, we watched weird Netflix shows for four hours and we didn’t make out the slightest bit.”

“Nope,” Natasha confirms. “No making out. No cuddling. No touching.”

Steve looks from one to the other. “Could you sound less like you’re covering for each other?”

“It’s true!” Bucky repeats. “I remember every little weird plot detail.”

“Yeah,” Natasha agrees. “No being distracted at all.”

Steve bites his lip, but bursts out laughing anyway. “Fine! Fine. Oh God, you two. Whatever, I don’t wanna know. So, I’d book separate rooms for you two?”

“Wherever we are going,” Natasha remarks.

“And if there’s only one?” Steve asks.

“Why would there be only one?” Bucky asks right back. “What is this, musical chairs? That’s a totally unlikely assumption. And, fuck you, you and Sam can share  _ just fine _ .”

“No need to get all aggressive about it,” Steve replies with amusement. “All right. Anywhere you want to go? Somewhere warm?”

“Sure,” Natasha replies. “Somewhere with no extradition agreements.”

“Don’t be so pragmatic,” Bucky says. “Is that really the first thing you think of?”

“I’ve been on the run for the last two years,” Natasha replies. “Just because you have been chilling out in Wakanda-”

Steve sighs. “Okay. I’m already regretting it.”

 

“I need to warn you, though,” Steve adds. “I also invited Bucky and Nat.”

“Are you worried they’re gonna be at each other's throat?” Sam asks.

Steve grimaces. “They’re- not dating, but there’s something.”

“What?!” Sam throws his hands in the air. “Why? All of a sudden? You’re kidding, right?”

“I wish.” Steve sighs. “I- apparently, there was a thing, before. I don’t really want to know. Just- they’re trying to figure out if and how much they want to go back to that.”

“Steve.” Sam leans in and puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I love you, and as your friend, I feel obligated to tell you that this vacation plan of yours is a terrible, horrible, no good idea.”

Steve snorts. “Can I just spend some time with my friends? Just a week or two? A month?”

“But consider this,” Sam advises. “Maybe your friends, you know who I am talking about, would actually prefer to spend time just with each other.”

Steve sighs. “I asked them and they were totally on board with it. Separate rooms and all.”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam replies. “That’s what they think they want  _ now. _ ”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Are you in or not?”

“Absolutely in,” Sam answers. “God, this is a horrible idea.”

 

They decide to go to Kiribati, even though, as Natasha points out, they do have an extradition treaty with the US. Then again, hopefully they’re still so busy with the almost-end of the world that they don’t come looking for them. Kiribati is remote, hard to reach, sparsely populated- in short, perfect. It’s also only about two meters above sea level, so it might not be around for much longer. There’s coral reefs for diving, wind and waves for surfing, and, as Bucky points out, plenty of strange birds. Sam rolls his eyes.

They find a guest house on a smaller island that even has electricity and running water. Sam insists adamantly on two separate houses. They book a commercial flight with three stops, which makes T’Challa despair when they tell him about their plans. Vision and Wanda have already gone, back to Scotland or something. Probably with less stops.

They only got two seats next to each other, which Sam and Steve take, the other two are two rows back and on both sides of the aisle. The first stop is Bangkok, from which they’ll go to Sydney, then to Fiji where they’ll stay a day until the once-a-week flight to Kiribati leaves.

Their fake passports hold up just fine, until now. Steve can’t help but fiddle with it even after they got on the plane, no matter how often Sam tells him to put it away. Natasha, on the other hand, smiles at Bucky across the aisle, then puts on a sleep mask and is out within minutes.

“So.” Sam takes the passport out of Steve’s hands. “Before you reversed time and all that bullshit… how long did that take, after the Snap?”

Steve sighs and tries to lean back. He’s too big for this seat. “About a year.”

“Wow,” Sam remarks. “So, you’ve been to the future. A year in the future.”

“The future after the Snap,” Steve reminds him. “You weren’t even there. I can’t tell you anything about what’s going to happen with you.”

“I’m not talking about me, man,” Sam replies. “Lottery numbers?”

“I-” Steve furrows his eyebrows. “Wait, that might actually work.”

“Yeah,” Sam repeats. “If you actually checked them and remember the dates and the numbers.”

“I didn’t,” Steve replies. “Maybe ask Nat. That sounds like something she might do. I’d say Tony, but I guess he doesn’t get much use out of  _ more  _ money.”

“She’s asleep,” Sam informs him, turning around and trying to peer between the seats. “Barnes’s looking out the window.”

Steve snorts and tries getting his table down, but his knees are in the way. “And probably hearing you.”

“So, what else happened?” Sam turns back to Steve. “Did the President die?”

Steve sighs. “Yeah. Vice President took over. It was messy.”

“Did they count how many people disappeared?” Sam continues asking.

“They created some office where you could report people who had disappeared,” Steve explains. “But they never got around to verifying more than a small amount of them and there were lots of duplicates, so, no final number, no.”

“What about Beyoncé?” Sam asks with wide eyes.

Steve grins. “Beyoncé survived. Her husband was gone, though.”

Sam snorts and rearranges himself in his seat. “I can live with that.”

“It’s crazy how much stopped working,” Steve continues absent-mindedly. “Businesses lost half their employees. Teachers were missing from schools. Hospitals had not enough doctors and nurses. It got some pilots mid-air, too, that was horrible.”

“Doesn’t sound like an emergency you can plan for,” Sam remarks.

“They secured nuclear and chemical facilities first,” Steve tells him. “Then electricity and food production. The economy grinded to a halt anyway. I guess the real impact was the global trauma, though. Everybody lost half of the people they loved. Even a year later, we were still talking about nothing else. Lots of self-help groups.”

Sam grins. “Did you go to one?”

“No.” Steve shakes his head. “Unless the Avengers count.”

“Were there riots?” Sam asks.

“Oh, yeah.” Steve shrugs. “Chaos. They were not targeted, though, because what are you going to do about an omnipotent alien who is not even on this planet anyway.”

“We couldn’t do anything about him either,” Sam reminds him. “What about governments? There must have been lots of missing heads of state and important people.”

“Oh, many.” Steve squints. “Pretty much every government in the world had problems. The regime in North Korea toppled.”

“Well, that’s something,” Sam comments.

“But half of the people were gone as well,” Steve repeats. “So, not quite optimal.”

Sam tilts his head. “Okay. Case in point.”

“Other nuclear powers kept stable enough, though,” Steve adds. “There were always people to replace the ones gone. Rivalling factions. Lots of infighting, but it never tipped over into anarchy. The US did surprisingly well, but the media was hysterically screaming.”

“Surprise, surprise,” Sam mutters. “Come on, you should catch some sleep. Enjoy your vacation.”

Steve sighs and closes his eyes. “Not easy, in this seat.”

“Well, try at least.” Sam’s eyes widen. “Wait, wait. What about Rihanna?”

 

“I don’t know about you,” Natasha says. “But I slept very well, actually.”

“Yes,” Sam remarks. “Because you are super small and the only person who fits in those seats.”

Steve rubs his shoulder and groans. “My neck hurts.”

“I didn’t sleep,” Bucky adds. “I felt like someone was going to recognize me.”

“You should have put on a sleep mask as well,” Natasha advises. “Socially acceptable face-hiding.”

“But then I wouldn’t notice when they did recognize me,” Bucky argues back.

Sam snorts. “And what were you gonna do? Jump out of the airplane? Please don’t say murder.”

Bucky tilts his head like he’s considering it. “I’m going to the bathroom,” Natasha announces. “Could you watch my suitcase? Don’t get lost without me.”

“Sure, we have time,” Steve replies. “We’ll just wait here.”

Bucky eyes her huge trolley as soon as she’s away a bit. “So… wanna guess how many knives are in there?”

“I don’t know, man,” Sam replies with amusement. “Wanna check?”

“Please don’t pull out a knife at the airport,” Steve sighs. “Now, who was worried about getting noticed?”

“Don’t worry,” Sam assures Bucky. “Shuri’s holograph is working just fine. And you did get through the metal detector.”

“I’m not worried,” Bucky claims. “I’m hungry. Can we get something to eat?”

“Sure,” Steve agrees. “But I told Nat that we’d wait here, so in a few minutes.”

Bucky snorts. “Come on. She’ll find us anyway.”

“We’ll blame you if she’s mad,” Sam warns. “Fine. And you take her suitcase.”

 

“I knew you’d go to Kinramen,” Natasha says and settles in her chair. “Is that a kiwi smoothie?”

“See, they wouldn’t believe me,” Bucky says and slides the glass over to her. “Yeah, try it. It’s good.”

“Awwww,” Sam comments dreamy-eyed.

“Shut up, Wilson, or I’ll punch you,” Bucky returns. Natasha takes a sip through the straw, leaning over the table but keeping her hair back with the other hand.

“We got you some soba,” Steve says in order to calm things down and pushes a box over to her. “And some rice.”

“I’ll leave you for a moment as well,” Sam announces and gets up. “Please don’t move, airports are super confusing.”

“Rest assured, we’re not going to leave without you,” Steve replies. “Not in the next hour at least.”

Sam snorts, takes his jacket and leaves. “Thanks.”

“So,” Bucky remarks. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did, actually.” Natasha rotates her shoulder, then picks up the chopsticks and expertly eats her noodles. “And I’m going to on the next flight. You’re all going to be so done when we get to Fiji, and I’ll be fresh as day.”

“Not sure about that,” Steve replies. “With the serum, I don’t get tired that easy anymore.”

“I, on the other hand, am always tired,” Bucky adds.

“Then why were you in the middle of the night in the  _ kitchen _ ?” Steve reminds him.

“Steve.” Natasha picks up another bunch of noodles. “Could you just let it go already?”

“Already?” Steve repeats. “That was two days ago. And I’m scarred for life.”

Bucky snorts. “Stevie, stop being a little shit.”

“Or what,” Steve counters. “You really think you’re just going to get away with it?”

“Actually, yes.” Natasha takes another sip of smoothie. “Want to know why?”

Steve snorts. “You really love these rhetorical questions, don’t you?”

Natasha grins and leans over the table. “Because you are  _ way  _ more embarrassed about it than we are.”

 

On the next flight, Natasha makes the passenger next to Bucky move and takes the middle seat. She puts her sleep mask on, leans her head against Bucky’s right shoulder and is asleep again.

Sam pushes a magazine through between the seats, grinning. “Want something to read?”

“Sssshhh,” Bucky hisses angrily and carefully cards Natasha’s hair out of her face.

Sam leans back. “So, Steve… How did you actually find out?”

“Hm?” Steve looks up from his art magazine. “Oh. You don’t really want to know.”

“That bad?” Sam eyes the seat in front of him.

Steve snorts. “Yeah. But didn’t you- Oh, right. You were dead.”

“I was dead?” Sam repeats.

“Yeah, the way Nat went about- oh, doesn’t matter.” Steve looks back at his magazine.

“Thanks,” Sam replies sarcastically. “You’re really talkative.”

“I thought you wanted to sleep,” Steve answers amusedly.

“That doesn’t mean I can sleep,” Sam counters, pointing in front of him. “Unlike her.”

“It might work better if you actually tried,” Bucky mutters.

“You know, she won’t stop breathing if you don’t stare at her heaving chest,” Sam advises.

“Don’t project on me,” Bucky counters. “Also, fuck off.”

Steve sighs and closes his eyes. “I so hope we’re not sitting together on the next plane.”

“Then why did you arrange a vacation with us side by side?” Sam asks. “Why would that be any different?”

“I know, I know,” Steve replies defensively. “This whole thing was a bad, bad idea.”

 

“I wanna sleep,” Sam complains. “How long are we going to continue wandering around?”

“Shut up,” Bucky hisses. “God, how far is this damned bathroom?”

Natasha sighs and falls back a bit to Steve. “Do you also worry that they’re just going to disappear at any given moment?”

“Like we thought we had it all figured out but we missed something monumentally important?” Steve asks back. “Yeah. All the time.”

“I don’t know what could happen,” Natasha states, brows furrowed. “Thanos is dead. He’s not going to turn back time or anything.”

“Rationally, sure,” Steve agrees. “Emotionally… Maybe we should have destroyed that Time Stone, once and for all.”

“No idea how we would even do that,” Natasha mutters, eyes strictly in front of her.

“Let’s just not worry more than necessary,” Steve suggests. “It’s fine for now. Let’s enjoy our vacation before news breaks that Vision has been hacked and is threatening to destroy Tokyo.”

Natasha grins. “That’s oddly specific.”

“I could go on forever,” Steve sighs. “I keep thinking they’re just going to dissolve without any reason. Because the universe doesn’t like being played like that or whatever.”

“That would be weird timing from the universe,” Natasha remarks. “Why not earlier?”

“I’m not saying it makes sense,” Steve reminds with amusement.

“Hey, you dull faces,” Sam exclaims. “How about we sit down here and let Barnes wander around on his own?”

“Sure,” Steve agrees and stops. “Let’s wait here.”

“Give me your suitcase,” Natasha says. “Gosh. Did you pack your entire hair product collection?”

“Look who’s talking,” Bucky returns, pointing at her huge suitcase. “You’d fit in there yourself. Be right back.”

“You even fit in those airline seats,” Sam says and drops onto the bench. “God, I’m tired.”

“Just like Nat said,” Steve remarks with amusement. “If you had slept in the plane and let me read my article in peace…”

Sam snorts. “If I had cuddled with Barnes?”

“Using people as a pillow is not cuddling,” Natasha remarks calmly, examining her nails. “Hm. Should have dyed my hair back while I still had the chance.”

“Nice change of topic,” Steve comments sarcastically.

Natasha grins. “I’m only doing this for you.”

“Quiet, both of you.” Sam closes his eyes. “I want to sleep.”

“Sure,” Steve says. “But we’re gonna brutally drag you out of it in a few minutes. Just a friendly reminder.”

 

“So, my key, your key,” Steve says, handing them out. “Sam, wake up.”

“Easier said than done,” Sam mutters without opening his eyes.

“So. Separate rooms? Sure?” Steve repeats.

“Stop playing cute, Steve.” Bucky rolls his eyes and takes the key.

“That’s Nat’s, actually,” Steve remarks. “Women’s floor.”

“There’s a separate  _ floor _ ?” Bucky asks incredulously.

“Yes,” Steve replies. “Reconsidering?”

Bucky gives him the finger and takes the other key. Natasha grins and picks hers out of Bucky’s hand. “Okay, boys. See you at breakfast. Good night, Sam.”

“Good night,” Sam mutters, leaning against the wall.

Natasha blows them a kiss and walks up the stairs. Steve tries to say something but Bucky is faster. “One more word and I swear to God. Stop pressuring her.”

“I’m not  _ pressuring  _ her,” Steve protests. “Does she look pressured to you? If anyone does, it’s you.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Just shut up. And  _ go. _ ”

 

She’s already perched on the railing of his balcony when he opens the door. “Well, hello there.”

“I climbed around two corners just to get here,” Natasha explains. “I hope you know to appreciate the effort.”

“I do,” he replies, carefully leaning against the railing. “Though you could have just waited outside the door. Or taken the double room.”

“Uh-uh.” Natasha pushes her hair behind her ears. “Not staying the night.”

“Okay.” Bucky smiles faintly. “I’m kind of tired anyway.”

“My biorhythm, on the other hand, is perfectly in place,” Natasha returns. “Do you have bottled water?”

“Uh.” Bucky turns and goes looking. “Somewhere, probably.”

“Try the fridge,” Natasha suggests, casually slipping into his room.

It is in the fridge. He hands one bottle to her and keeps the other. “So. You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Natasha replies with a smile, settling on his bed.

“Just asking,” Bucky says, taking a sip. “So. What do you want to do?”

“Ah.” Natasha toes off her shoes and pulls her feet underneath her. “Nothing.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds out about the kitchen incident. Steve is a well-prepared tourist. Bucky and Natasha just want to talk, really.

“So,” Sam remarks, ripping at his croissant. “Should we speculate why they’re both late, or…”

Steve waves him off. “We didn’t even set a time. And don’t make me think about that.”

“I had since four in the morning to think about that,” Sam replies. “Biological clock be damned. So, tell me how you actually found out.”

Steve sighs and crosses his arms on the table. “You never wondered why Natasha had an extensive file on Bucky or why she seemed so dead-set on finding him? Oh, wait, you weren’t actually there for that.”

“I was dead?” Sam suggests sarcastically.

“Oh, no, just not there,” Steve replies. “That was after Fury was killed. Seemingly killed. Anyway, I just figured there had to be something, with them both having been in secret Russian organisations and her quietly caring a lot about getting him back.”

“So, that was after I died,” Sam specifies.

Steve nods. “Yeah. That was after the Snap.”

“And then?” Sam asks.

Steve groans. “And then. The kitchen incident.”

“It already has a name?” Sam comments amusedly. “That must be something.”

“The night after the battle, I went into the kitchen. The door was open,” Steve tells him. “And… well. Don’t make me say it.”

“What?!” Sam shakes his head. “In the kitchen?! Door open?!”

“One might have hoped for more sneakiness,” Steve agrees. “Anyway. That was pretty unmistakable.”

Sam snorts. “What, just because you walked in on them fucking?”

“They were… done, I guess, at that point.” Steve buries his face in his hands. “Why am I even telling you this?”

“Because my imagination is running wild anyways,” Sam offers. “Were they naked? Just getting dressed?”

“They were… fairly clothed, actually,” Steve says reluctantly. “Considering… considering what they were doing.”

Sam grins. “Well, that must have been urgent. Did you hear stuff, too?”

“Thankfully not.” Steve closes his eyes. “And I really only looked for a second before I realized. It’s bad enough as it is.”

“What did you do?” Sam asks curiously.

Steve sighs. “I cleared my throat to get their attention and… waited for them to dress, and Bucky left and I talked to Natasha.”

“What did she say?” Sam continues asking. “In a situation like that?”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, I’m not telling you that.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Really? That’s where you draw the line?”

“Private conversations, yes,” Steve specifies.

“My ears are tingling,” Natasha remarks and pulls back a chair for herself. “Is there something you want to know?”

“No,” Steve mutters. “Absolutely not.”

“Do you have no shame?” Sam asks amusedly.

“Mhm, not when it’s inconvenient,” Natasha replies and starts putting marmalade on her croissant.

“Where’s Bucky anyway?” Steve asks.

“I don’t know,” Natasha answers calmly. “Probably still fixing his hair.”

Sam snorts. “Yeah. His hair.”

“Speaking of which.” Steve rubs his chin. “Maybe I should shave sometime.”

“Oh, no.” Natasha shakes her head. “Someone might recognize you.”

“I should grow a beard,” Sam suggests. “A different beard, I mean. A full beard.”

“I guess, at this point you’d be harder to recognize with no beard,” Cap suggests.

“I’ll think about it,” Sam acknowledges. “Oh, and we need to cut Barnes’ hair.” He pauses for a second. “What, no protest?”

“You think I have an opinion on his  _ hair _ ?” Natasha questions amusedly.

“You won’t lay a finger on my hair, Wilson,” Bucky threatens, dropping into his chair. “How did you sleep?”

“It’s okay,” Steve answers. “The mattress wasn’t very good.”

“Like a stone,” Sam answers. “And after 4 a.m., not at all.”

“I slept well, even though it was a bit warm,” Natasha adds. “So, guys. We have until noon.”

“Yes,” Steve confirms. “I wanted to take a long walk before fleeing somewhere with air conditioning.”

“Then we should leave soon,” Sam suggests, burying his face in his hands. “God, I’m tired.”

“There’s a Hindu temple I wanted to visit,” Steve adds, flipping through his notebook. “Let me see if I can find the name.”

“Do you want to push America into a cultural and religious crisis?” Bucky asks, shoving scrambled egg into his mouth. “Cause I think you should.”

“I think we shouldn’t draw any attention,” Natasha corrects him. “I got caps for all of you, by the way.”

“Are you moming us now?” Sam asks.

“No, she’s spysplaining us,” Bucky replies. “Which is just as unnecessary.”

“Have you seen Steve trying to hide?” Natasha asks. “He always wants to punch someone. He keeps looking around nervously. He can’t even  _ walk  _ inconspicuously.”

“Hey.” Steve pulls a face but doesn’t look up. “That was years ago. I’ve gotten a lot better.”

“Really?” Sam asks. “You two wanna brag about not getting noticed?”

Bucky sighs. “This is never gonna end, is it?”

 

“Sri Siva Submariniya”, Steve mutters. “Sri Siva- wait. Subramaniya. Sri Siva Subramaniya.”

“I don’t think you have to know the exact name to be allowed in,” Sam offers.

“Maybe I want to,” Steve returns stubbornly.

“Reminds me of India,” Natasha says thoughtfully. “Could be Tamil Nadu or something.”

“Been there?” Bucky asks.

“Some time,” Natasha replies vaguely. “Yes.”

“Recently?” Bucky continues.

Natasha grins. “You’d like to know that, wouldn’t you?”

“Why else would I ask?” Bucky replies.

“Can we just get away from their weird spy flirting,” Sam mumbles. “Please.”

“Letting them loose is probably even more disastrous,” Steve sighs. “Okay. We need to take off our shoes, and no photos inside.”

“Yes.” Sam suppresses the urge to mock-salute. “Captain.”

 

“I wasn’t even after that guy,” Natasha explains. “None of my business, actually. But I figured, eh, why the hell not. Since I’m here anyway.”

Steve waves his hand in front of her face. She pauses with a murderous expression. “Yes. Steve?”

“You haven’t listened to me for the past hour,” Steve replies. “Had to get your attention somehow. We want to go to an orchid garden.”

“I have been listening, actually,” Natasha corrects sourly. “Dravidian architecture, Indian artists, transported statues, Sangam activities since 1984, consecration of the new temple in 1994.”

“Yes,” Bucky replies. “Orchid garden sounds fine.”

Sam snorts. “You’d go to a parking lot if that meant we’d leave you alone, wouldn’t you?”

“We don’t want to be left alone,” Natasha clarifies. “We just want to talk in peace.”

Steve sighs. “I’ll call a cab.”

 

“Who decided the smallest person gets to ride shotgun?” Sam questions. “The smallest person sits in the middle. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

“I don’t think she can hear you,” Steve points out, waving in the direction of Natasha’s earphones.

“Why are you always complaining?” Bucky asks. “Really. The whole time.”

“I’m squeezed in here between you two because you two grandpas decided it was the gentlemanly thing to let her sit in the front,” Sam complains. “Or whatever. I think I get to complain about that.”

Steve sighs. “It’s just a few kilometers, Sam.”

“Kilometers?” Sam repeats. “What happened to good old mile?”

“The lady at the hotel told me in kilometers,” Steve answers. “No need to make a fuss about it.”

“But he makes a fuss about everything,” Bucky mumbles. “God, I wish I had headphones too.”

Sam snorts. “As if you paid any attention to me.”

“Wilson,” Bucky explains calmly. “I don’t care about you.”

“I don’t care about you either,” Sam counters. “But you could have some common decency. You know, politeness.”

“If you don’t shut up,” Steve threatens, “both of you, I’ll call Nat on you. You don’t want that.”

“No need to go  _ ballistic,  _ Steve,” Sam replies.

Steve sighs, closes his eyes and pretends he doesn’t hear them.

 

“Funny that you should ask,” Natasha replies, pulling a receipt out of her bag. “In fact, I already had someone place a bet. Soon, I’ll be two million dollars richer.”

“Uuuhhh,” Sam makes. “Barnes, you gold digger.”

“Really, Wilson?” Bucky questions. “I didn’t even know about that.”

“Sure,” Sam agrees without concern. “Gold diggeeeeer.”

Steve sighs as soon as he comes close to them. “I got tickets. Can we just go in?”

“Of course we can,” Natasha agrees. “And don’t worry, those two million will go to charity.”

“That’s actually very thoughtful of you,” Steve remarks. “What charity?”

“Couple of different ones,” Natasha explains. “Mostly about orphans.”

“Yeah, that makes sense for you,” Steve agrees.

“Come on, Barnes,” Sam hisses. “Another opportunity to ask her something about herself.”

Steve turns around incredulously. “Really? We can’t have a sensible conversation for two seconds?!”

“You need to get your story straight,” Bucky advises with amusement. “Do I actually want to know stuff about her or do I only want her money?”

The staff lady seems a bit uncomfortable and very unsure about whether to interrupt. Steve tries to smile reassuringly. “Just ignore them.”

The woman focuses on him and starts telling them about the garden and its history, the American actor who founded it and so on. “And where is the giant?” Sam asks.

The woman smiles politely. “Stop it, Sam,” Steve says. “He’s just tired, Ma’am, the jet lag. Thanks for the offer, but I think we’d rather go alone.”

“Of course.” The woman smiles more genuinely and waves them through. “Enjoy your stay at the Sleeping Giant Garden.”

 

It’s a calm place. They walk along canopy-covered boardwalks through beautifully landscaped lawns, coming across lily ponds with trickling fountains and croaking frogs. At the end is a dense rainforest.

“It’s very romantic here,” Sam comments. “Bet they host weddings.”

“Are you crazy,” Natasha replies. “No one is marrying any one.”

“I’m not  _ always  _ talking about-” Sam squints. “When did you start holding hands?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky replies defensively. “I didn’t check the clock.”

“Oh look, a hammock,” Steve tries without any semblance of confidence.

“What, we can’t talk, but we can’t quietly hold hands either?” Natasha questions.

“I didn’t sign up for your honeymoon,” Sam reminds them. “But fine, whatever, do whatever you want. Come on, Steve, let’s get a bit ahead.”

“Did you tell them?” Bucky asks quietly, as soon as they’re out of hearing range. “About your husband?”

Natasha stares at the orchids at the side of the way. “No one. I keep thinking someone will come across the certificate, but if the Russians still have it, they’ve kept it under wraps.”

“I don’t think they’d understand,” Bucky says.

Natasha smiles weakly. “It was a different time. I was young and impressionable. His death was… devastating.”

“Even though you didn’t love him,” Bucky adds questioningly.

Natasha snorts. “Oh, that’s what you want to hear. I did love him, just in a different way. He was my family, in some respects.”

“I’d be okay with that,” Bucky says, taking her other hand as well. “If he had made you happy.”

“Piece of advice, James,” Natasha offers, getting on her toes so she can whisper into his ear. “Don’t look for your happiness in other people.”

 

“Oh, good,” Sam comments. “You’re disentangled.”

“Was pretty easy, actually,” Natasha remarks. “Just open your hand and let go.”

“Is there any way we can sit in the taxi that doesn't make someone mad?” Steve asks.

“I’m not cuddling up with you two again,” Sam announces reflexively.

“I’ll sit in the middle,” Natasha replies. “It’s fine. It’s not far, is it?”

“Just a few miles,” Steve confirms gratefully. “Then we’ll get our baggage and then we can already take the shuttle bus to the airport.”

“Sam can help me with my luggage,” Natasha suggests. “In return.”

“What? Why?” Sam asks incredulously. “As if you needed help. And if you did, you could still ask Barnes.”

“Correct,” Natasha agrees. “But maybe I want to watch you suffer.”

“I’m already suffering!” Sam claims. “I have jet lag, it’s way too warm and I have to watch your nauseating cooing.”

“You don’t have to,” Bucky suggests. “Just turn around. Or close your eyes.”

 

The ride back to the hotel is uneventful. Sam almost falls asleep in the passenger seat. Natasha puts her earbuds back in, listening to some classical music. No one talks.

Before Natasha can manhandle her trolley into the elevator, a Chinese tourist jumps to her rescue. Natasha watches with amusement as he tries to make the thing budge. He does end up getting it into the elevator and rides the three stories down with her. Then he struggles to get it out again. After that, it rolls just fine over the even floor. Natasha smiles and thanks him and pulls her trolley over to where Steve is already waiting.

“He looked disappointed,” Steve remarks.

“What, you think I owe him anything?” Natasha asks. “More than a smile and a thank you?”

“Of course not,” Steve replies with amusement. “You could have managed fine on your own.”

“I always struggle a bit more than necessary,” Natasha explains. “Draws less suspicion.”

“Not less attention, though,” Steve adds.

“There’s a difference between attention and scrutiny,” Natasha explains. “But you already know that, don’t you.”

“You explained that often enough in the last two years,” Steve agrees. “It’s funny how easy it is to disregard all the time we spent going back in time, isn’t it?”

“I guess it’s just because the same things happened over and over again,” Natasha replies, settling onto her trolley. “And we don’t want to think about it particularly much either.”

Steve sighs. “Speaking of which… do you think they disintegrated this time?”

Natasha grins. “Unlikely. But I can go check if you want.”

Steve snorts. “I’m pretty sure that might make us miss our plane.”

“It’s not that far up those stairs,” Natasha teases. “Bet I could make it in time.”

“I mean, if you want to, who am I to tell you anything,” Steve clarifies. “But if you end up not making it, this day will live forever in infamy.”

Natasha snorts at his drama. “Relax, Steve, I’m not going anywhere. Also, less than ten minutes, that’s not really worth it.”

“Oh,” Steve remarks. “So whole ten minutes would be worth it?”

Natasha grins. “Come on. You don’t really want to know anything about me screwing your best friend.”

“I already know more than I want,” Steve mutters. “But you could tell me about before. If you want to.”

“I could,” Natasha admits. “But that would take longer than those ten minutes.”

“Well, we’re going to an island to do exactly nothing,” Steve reminds her. “So we have plenty of time.”

“Don’t threaten me,” Natasha replies. “Oh, there’s one.”

“Maybe you should go and help him with his luggage,” Steve suggests, pointing at Bucky. “In the spirit of equality.”

“Nah,” Natasha says simply, blowing a kiss in Bucky’s direction.

“And there’s Sam,” Steve adds. “Aaaand the elevator door just shut right before his nose.”

“I’ll distract him before they can start bickering again,” Natasha announces.

“ _ Thank  _ you.” Steve nods appreciatively. “Also, can I have your earphones? Mine are… somewhere.”

“Sure thing,” Natasha replies, rummaging through her bag. “Well, hello, honey.”

“Really?” Bucky asks incredulously. “ _ Really _ ?”

“Here you go,” Natasha says to Steve and hands him her headphones. “I guess we have to wait a few moments for Sam.”

“Why did you say that?” Bucky asks. “That’s so weird.”

“Thanks,” Steve replies. “I think the bus waiting outside is ours. I’ll check with the driver.”

“One button,” Sam shouts across the foyer. “You couldn’t have pressed one button?”

“Come on,” Natasha says. “Let’s get our luggage into the bus. He’ll catch up.”

 

Bucky doesn’t say a word until they’re in the plane, despite Sam’s attempts. Steve grins, nudging his left shoulder. “Are you still brooding over why Nat called you  _ honey _ ?”

“You don’t understand that,” Bucky replies. “But it’s super weird for her.”

“I think I kind of do,” Steve replies, turning around to see Natasha and Sam play cards. “Wait, does she have cards in her bag?”

“All kinds of things,” Bucky mutters, fiddling with the plastic table. “She’s probably ruining him at poker or something.”

Steve tilts his head. “Wanna talk about it?”

Bucky sighs. “It’s all- kind of fast? It shouldn’t feel that way, because- because I  _ want  _ to be with her, and I’m pretty sure about that, but- it feels too fast.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Steve replies. “It is objectively fast. And she feels the same way.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, and she has tons of good reasons to. Me, though? Not so much. I should be happy and not look for obstacles everywhere.”

“Are you kidding,” Steve replies. “There are obstacles. What you’ve been through- you have it hard enough to find your place in the world. And she’s hardly the same person you knew before. When I think about when I first met her- she was a lot different even back then. Can’t imagine what it must have been going back further.”

Bucky closes his eyes. “She was- I don’t know how to describe it.”

“Probably very different,” Steve suggests.

“She was  _ good _ ,” Bucky says. “Beneath all the hardened shells and the cynicism and the layers of hurt, fundamentally, morally good. It sounds weird to say that, given what… I guess she had a soul. In a very soulless place.”

“Oh,” Steve remarks. “That she still does.”

“Even more so,” Bucky agrees. “Which is… beautiful to watch.”

Steve grins. “Gosh, you lovesick dork.”

“Stevie,” Bucky says. “Stop invalidating my feelings.”

“I’m not invalidating them!” Steve protests. “I’m just saying you’re a huge lovesick dork.”

“That’s the same thing, really,” Bucky mutters.

“No, it’s not,” Steve counters. “Also, you had sex once. Stop acting like your wedding is next week. That’s so 1940s.”

“Really,” Bucky returns. “You want to lecture me about being old-fashioned and taking sex casually.”

Steve snorts and closes his eyes. “Okay. Case in point.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the jet lag, Sam suffers from sea-sickness. Steve learns everything about door socks. Bucky and Natasha are not making out.

“God,” Sam groans. “I didn’t know I could get this sea-sick.”

“Sorry,” Steve says. “But we had too much baggage to charter a plane. It’s really not far.”

“You said that five minutes ago,” Sam complains, clutching the railing. “God, I hate this small boat.”

Natasha leans next to him, slightly pale as well, even though it’s hard to tell with her huge sunglasses. “Focus on the horizon. Sometimes that helps.”

“And sometimes it doesn’t,” Sam sighs. “Could you just tell me how long it’s gonna be?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Steve admits. “Sorry. Shouldn’t be far, though.”

“What, you don’t know,” Bucky repeats. “You’re supposed to be the man with a plan.”

“Hey, we’re getting there,” Steve counters. “I just don’t know if in five, ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes,” Sam repeats horrified. “Urgh.”

“Have you ever been on a smuggler boat?” Natasha mutters. “You know, that sort of inflatable boat with a motor. And you have to corner sharply because of all the rocks and then all of a sudden you have to shut off the motor so that nobody hears you and you think you’re gonna hit one of those sharp edges and the boat is going to sink?”

“What,” Sam simply says. “You can’t give that level of detail without actually saying anything.”

“Of course I can,” Natasha replies. “Watch me.”

“So, what were you smuggling?” Steve asks amusedly.

“Me?” Natasha repeats. “Nothing. In fact, I was being smuggled.”

“Oh,” Bucky remarks. “Where?”

Natasha grins, turning around. “You’d like to know that, wouldn’t you?”

“Why do you tell them?” Bucky complains. “And not me?”

Natasha’s grin widens dangerously. “Well, maybe I want you to work for it.”

“I’ll jump off this boat,” Sam announces. “If you don’t stop with the innuendo.”

“Sure, jump,” Bucky agrees. “We’ll take care of your luggage.”

“Wow, Barnes,” Sam replies sarcastically. “That’s so nice of you.”

“I’ll check in with the captain,” Steve says. “See how long we’ve got.”

“I’ll just hang here over the railing,” Sam laments.

“Here, have some salt sticks,” Natasha suggests, pulling them out of her bags. “Want some coke?”

“Maybe don’t say coke after you alluded to your smuggling experiences,” Bucky remarks grinning.

“Oh, shut up,” Natasha replies. “You’re not suffering, you don’t get to talk right now. Let us whine in peace.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Fine, whatever. Do you have my book?”

“Oh, of course.” Natasha rummages through her bag. “Let me see.”

“She carries your book around?” Sam asks incredulously.

“She has a whole bag of totally unsuspicious weapon storage!” Bucky claims. “Thank you.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Dude. Get a backpack and stop burdening your girl.”

“I have-” Steve interrupts, chewing on his lower lip. “Bad news.”

 

“Two hours!” Sam laments, leaning against the wall. “More than two hours. What was that about fifteen minutes, Steve? Oh yeah, that’s right. Bullshit, that’s what that was.”

Steve sighs, continuing to read the one-page form. “You should have taken plane,” their host repeats. “Especially if you get sick on boat.”

“Yes,” Steve agrees politely. “Hindsight is 20/20, right?”

Their host grins, mouth wide. “Of course. Now, I prepared two houses, as you said. One for three and one for one.”

“For-” Steve blinks. “Why?”

Ionna looks at him as if he is stupid. “You said three men and one woman. That’s what you said.”

“Oh! Right,” Steve mumbles, trying not to blush. “No, they can- they can share.”

Natasha grins and slips her hand into Bucky’s. Ioanna’s eyes widen. “Oh! Oh. Okay. I will fix that.”

“Sorry for the misunderstanding,” Steve apologizes, signing the form. “I forgot to mention  _ that. _ ”

“Just as you forgot to mention that the boat ride would take more than two hours,” Sam adds saltily.

“That I was not actually aware of,” Steve repeats. “Are you getting better?”

“Slowly,” Sam sighs. “I’d just like to lie down somewhere.”

“Follow me,” Ionna orders. “I have keys.”

Bucky carefully strokes Natasha’s shoulder, muttering “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine,” Natasha replies, adjusting her sunglasses.

They walk towards a bunch of huts that look semi-stable. Probably not withstanding a tropical storm. Bucky takes Natasha’s other hand as Ionna fiddles with the lock. “I can stay over here. If you want.”

“Oh, shut up, you idiot,” Natasha whispers back.

“Here!” Ionna exclaims, opening the door and flicking on the light switch. “The electricity sometimes goes away. Don’t worry about that.”

“I want the one by the window,” Sam immediately claims. Steve rolls his eyes.

“You have bedding and towels,” Ionna explains.  “Every week, I clean. Here is bathroom.”

“Thank you,” Steve replies. “Let me help you move the bed.”

Bucky grabs the other side. Natasha grins. “Come on, guys. It’s not that heavy.”

Ioanna leads them over to the next hut and unlocks the door. “It’s really not heavy,” Steve agrees. “Just too big to move around alone.”

“Put it next to the other,” Ioanna instructs. Bucky is about to protest but doesn’t when Natasha touches his arm.

“Okay, so that’s that.” Steve wipes his hands on his pants. “Let’s get the luggage, shall we?”

“Just a second,” Natasha says. “Go ahead.”

Steve gives her a questioning look, but Ioanna’s already stomped out, so he follows her. The door falls closed.

“Over there?” Natasha asks.

“Over there,” Bucky agrees, and the second bed is moved behind the room divider.

Natasha looks at it doubtfully. “I mean- we can move it back at any time.”

“Sure,” Bucky replies. “Easy. Just for now.”

“I just didn’t want to- debate that, in front of other people,” Natasha adds. “I don’t mean to throw you out.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” Bucky assures. “Probably for the best right now. Let’s not make it complicated.”

“It’s complicated enough already,” Natasha mutters.

“Yeah.” Bucky nods absent-mindedly. “Sorry.”

“That’s not your fault,” Natasha replies, stepping closer. “That’s just me, trying to make things work that shouldn’t, not yet, trying to act as if nothing has changed, even though it has, and- I don’t know.”

Bucky touches her face. “I don’t know either.”

Natasha looks up at him in surprise. “I thought you knew what you wanted.”

Bucky laughs. “Maybe. Not sure, though. And very unsure about how to get there.”

“Mhm.” Natasha puts a hand on his right shoulder and pulls herself onto her toes. “Let’s find out.”

The distance between them closes easily and then it’s all lips moving on their own. She fists his hair so it doesn’t get in the way, pulling herself closer at the same time. Bucky grins, grabbing at her hips, and she jumps, wrapping her legs around his waist, caught without a hitch by his deceptive left arm. His stubble rubs against her skin when she kisses him again. He goes for her neck, kissing and biting and scratching, and Natasha sighs and-

“What the fuck did you pack?!” Sam’s voice outside.

Bucky groans and drops his head. Natasha rolls her eyes, wriggles out of his grip, pushes past him and pulls the door open. “Books. I packed books. You know, the things with letters in them.”

“Yes, but how many?!” Sam continues. “I thought I’d take your sundresses and tops, but fuck, this shit is heavy.”

“Gimme, I’ll handle that,” Natasha says, pulling her trolley over the doorstep.

“Books?” Sam repeats. “What century do you live in? You were supposed to be the modern one in the room.”

“Oh, I’m actually quite old-fashioned,” Natasha replies, winking.

Sam turns to Steve, then shakes his head. “Yeah. I’m out of here.”

Steve sighs. “Just come over when you’re ready for dinner.”

 

“Do you hear something?” Sam asks.

“Uh,” Steve replies eloquently, not looking up from his art magazine. “Crashing waves? Wind? Is there a motorboat or a plane somewhere?”

“That’s not what I mean,” Sam corrects. “I want to know whether it’s safe to go over and ask Nat whether she packed sunscreen.”

“Oh.” Steve shrugs. “I don’t know. Knock. Hope they closed the door.”

“No, thanks,” Sam replies. “I’m not even confident they know the door sock principle.”

“The what?” Steve repeats with amusement, folding his magazine.

“Oh my god,” Sam says. “Haven’t you been to college?”

Steve snorts. “You know I haven’t.”

“Oh, right.” Sam scratches his head. “So, in college, if you share a room with someone because you’re a poor student, sometimes you still want some privacy. Like when you have a visitor. Now, you and your roommate both have keys, so you can’t just lock the door… and that’s where the sock comes in.”

“Why a sock,” Steve questions. “Why not a sign? Why not text each other?”

Sam snorts. “Cap, you really want to put up a sign that says  _ Hey buddy, we’re screwing each other’s brains out, please don’t come in _ ? No, you don’t want that. As for texting, there’s a chance the roommate might not see it and that would be very uncomfortable for all parties involved.”

“Yes,” Steve agrees sourly. “It would.”

“The sock is a bit random, I guess,” Sam continues. “But everyone has it and you don’t really need it, if someone takes it. You can stick it very well onto the doorknob so there is no way of not seeing it. Of course, you can always hang out a bra or something, but that’s pretty risqué.”

“What would I do, though?” Steve asks. “If there were a sock on the doorknob.”

Sam snorts. “Whatever. Go somewhere else. Just don’t, under no circumstances, go in.”

“Maybe we should tell them,” Steve suggests with amusement. “About the door sock.”

“You do that,” Sam answers, pushing up from his chair. “Okay, whatever. I’ll risk it.”

“Good luck,” Steve wishes him. “I will forever remember your bravery.”

“Please do,” Sam replies, climbing down the porch and walking over to the next hut where he knocks on the door.

Natasha is talking inside, as he can hear now. “Я не хотела- yes, come in. Door’s open.”

Sam hesitantly pushes the door open. Natasha is sitting on her bed, nail polish in her hands, Bucky is going through his suitcase. “Hey. Phew. I just wanted to ask whether you had sunscreen.”

“Sure.” Natasha looks over to where her trolley stands. “Ah, I’ll give it to you later, can’t walk around right now.”

“By the way,” Steve, who seems to have decided it was safe, chimes in. “Are you ready for a walk? I’d like to discover the island a little bit.”

“I’m done,” Bucky announces, shutting his suitcase and getting up.

Natasha wriggles her bright red toes. “I just did my nails. But you go ahead.”

“Sam?” Steve asks. “Still seasick?”

“Mostly fine,” Sam admits. “And some fresh air probably wouldn’t be bad.”

“Alright, boys.” Natasha paints the next nail with maximum focus. “See you later.”

 

The island is a crescent shaped atoll, not even a mile wide, which means almost everything is beach. There is some palm tree forest, but most of it is sand, sand, sand.

“This is an amazing route for a run,” Sam remarks. “Except I’m not running with you anymore.”

“Why?” Steve asks innocently.

“You know damn well why,” Sam replies. “Barnes, I’m stealing your girlfriend. Maybe she’s a bearable running buddy.”

“Whatever,” Bucky says.

“What,” Sam asks incredulously. “That all you have to say?”

Bucky snorts. “If you make her get up early, I’ll be pissed.”

“You haven’t been around for long, haven’t you,” Steve remarks. “If you think we make her do stuff instead of the opposite way around.”

“Fair point,” Bucky concedes.

“So.” Sam looks around. “Is there actually anyone else around here? Except for whatshername.”

“Ioanna,” Steve supplies. “Don’t think so. As far as I know, those are the only buildings on this island.”

“And the next island is super far away,” Sam adds. “I have to say, you really did a great job picking a destination.”

Steve snorts. “Finally, someone notices I did all the work around here.”

“I think Ioanna has a husband,” Bucky remarks. “Or something. She was wearing a ring, wasn’t she?”

“Absolutely no clue,” Sam replies. “I didn’t look for that at all.”

“I didn’t, consciously,” Bucky specifies. “I just stood around with nothing to do.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Wow. With Nat, at least it doesn’t  _ feel  _ like she’s watching your every move and mapping out your weaknesses and pressure points.”

“Woah, woah, woah.” Bucky shakes his head. “Nat is on a whole different level.”

“Remember when we took that black Beatle that was way too small?” Steve asks. “And when we got out, you knew all the license plates of all the cars that passed us?”

“We were on the run,” Bucky reminds him. “I was  _ nervous _ .”

Sam snorts. “Yeah, but you were on the run the whole time.”

“I was perfectly fine in Wakanda,” Bucky counters. “Looking after my goats, playing with the children, minding my own business. Until you had to show up with an  _ alien army _ .”

“Goats?!” Sam repeats. “You had  _ goats _ ? Why did nobody tell me about this?”

“There wasn’t really time to catch up,” Steve comments. “Because, you know, the alien army.”

“Oh right,” Sam replies. “That’s why  _ they  _ had to catch up in the kitchen in the middle of the night.”

“Honestly,” Bucky says. “Totally worth it.”

“Oh.” Sam grins. “I imagine.”

“ _ Stop  _ it, both of you,” Steve sighs, rubbing his face. “Gosh. I don’t want to know  _ anything _ .”

“Goats,” Sam repeats. “Why goats? Did you give them names?”

“Why would I give them names,” Bucky replies. “They had colors. And numbers.”

“That’s stupid,” Sam says. “So, is Nat Blonde 1 or 2?”

Bucky grins. “Come on. Nat will forever be Red.”

“I think she wants to dye it back,” Steve says. “Maybe. Or maybe she won’t.”

“Maybe if he asks really, really nice,” Sam suggests, grinning.

“Don’t really care,” Bucky says. “Maybe it’s good if she looks… different.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “Maybe that’s good.”

“Guys,” Sam sighs. “Please don’t get all mopey.”

“Weren’t you complaining about, oh, absolutely everything absolutely always?” Bucky counters.

“I’m not sure whether it’s better to have both of you or neither,” Steve sighs.

“We should send him back,” Sam suggests. “It’s not like he wants to be here anyway.”

“I do, actually,” Bucky corrects. “Stop assuming stuff about me.”

“We need to pass by the huts anyway to get to the other end,” Steve says, pointing in front of him. “Because this is it.”

The thin stripe of sand closes a few yards in front of them, giving way to the infinite blue sea. “That was quick,” Sam remarks. “Maybe because there was absolutely nothing the whole way, only sand and palm trees.”

Bucky gazes at the horizon. “I like it here.”

Steve smiles. “Good. I do, too.”

“Great,” Sam agrees. “Now let’s go.”

 

The door to both huts are open and Natasha is on a chair in Steve and Sam’s, fitting mosquito nets over their beds. “Oh, hey. Ioanna brought these over. Dengue fever.”

“Oh, great,” Sam sighs. “I didn’t vaccinate in a while.”

“I wonder whether I can catch that,” Steve muses.

Bucky snorts. “Maybe try not to, punk.”

“That’s why I’m doing this,” Natasha says, wiggling the mosquito net in her hands.

“Need some help?” Steve asks, already looking for another chair.

Natasha waves him off. “I’m fine. Did you go all the way around already?”

“One way,” Sam replies. “Thought we’d check in with you, if you want to come with us. To the other side. The dark side.”

“I don’t think it’s dark,” Steve muses. “Why would it be dark? Yeah, yeah, I got the reference, it just didn’t make sense.”

Sam snorts. “Sure. Steve Rogers, ultimate arbiter about what pop culture references are allowed.”

“I’d like to finish this,” Natasha replies, ignoring everything else that was said. “We’re going to be here for a long time anyway.”

“Yeah, let’s see for how long,” Steve says. “Alright.”

“Oh, and Ioanna said she’s making dinner,” Natasha adds. “Later.”

“Wow, that’s nice of her,” Steve comments. “Great. So, now, let’s go?”

“I’ll just,” Bucky says. “Stay here.”

“Called it!” Sam exclaims while already leaving the house.

Steve shakes his head in amusement, following him. “You know, I already said this, but… I missed you, Sam.”

“I’d say I missed you too,” Sam offers. “But for me, time didn’t pass because, I guess I was dead, so, no. Sorry.”

“You weren’t dead, though,” Steve remarks. “You were in Soul World. Wanda said when she was there, she lived through her happiest memories. With Vision, her brother, her parents.”

“Sounds nice,” Sam agrees. “Real nice.”

Steve snorts. “You don’t want to tell me what you saw?”

Sam grins. “Not right now, no. I’d say though- it’s not memories. It’s more like dreams. Happy dreams. Some that happened and some that didn’t.”

“Well, maybe you can still make them happen,” Steve suggests. “All the time in the world.”

Sam’s eyes are focused on the never-ending ocean. “Yeah. Maybe I can.”

 

“Did she say something about the beds?” Bucky asks, fidgeting with the net and the bedpost.

“I moved them together,” Natasha replies, not looking at him. “We can move them back tonight. I just- didn’t want her to notice.”

“It’s weird, isn’t it,” Bucky remarks, giving up and lowering the net. “We used to pretend not to sleep together. And now we pretend to sleep together, even though we don’t.”

Natasha sighs, getting off her chair and pulling it to the other side. “It’s- I guess you can’t shake off the need to control others’ perceptions. I can’t, at least.”

“It’s hard,” Bucky agrees. “It really is. Sits deep.”

Natasha fastens the net to the bedpost with a practiced motion. “I might never get there, honestly. Just a warning.”

Bucky puts his chair back. “That’s okay. I don’t need us to be off-guard. At least not around other people.”

“Especially around people we just met,” Natasha specifies, slapping his ass and grinning when she passes him. “Come on. Let’s get back to our place.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha discovers her limits. Steve almost curses. Sam catches him. Natasha may take a little long to change.

 

They moved the beds apart, and now she can’t sleep.

She listens to his breathing and wonders why he’s over there, why they can’t sleep together like they used to, why they have to make everything so goddamn complicated now. It’s frustrating. And at the same time she’s scared, scared of her feelings, scared of what might happen, scared of how vulnerable she is. None of this is easy. Sometimes it is, and then it’s not. And then, even worse, she’s afraid he doesn’t understand, that he thinks she’s trying to push him away, that she doesn’t really want this with all her heart. Because if she did, it would be easy, right? Right?

Love was supposed to fix everything, and it doesn’t. Not really. Not for her. Maybe she’s the problem. Her broken way of insulating herself, not letting people close to her, shutting down her emotions. Maybe she can’t have anything good, wholesome anymore. Maybe she’s too broken for that.

She turns again. It’s infuriatingly obvious. She shouldn’t give away that much. But maybe he’s sleeping. Maybe he can’t hear anything. Maybe it’s just her head that’s so loud.

Probably she can’t love anymore. She used to think she learned how to, relearned it, but maybe that’s all wrong. She’s not made for this. Maybe, in the end, she really can’t shake it.

She hears him shifting as well and he breathes through it, even though sleeping people don’t do that. Which he’s probably not aware of. Which means he’s awake and pretending not to be. Her fingers close around thin air. The waves are brushing over the shore, outside, moonlight is filtering in, the sky is clear and neither of them is sleeping.

She doesn’t shift again, just whispers. “Hey?”

She can’t get herself to use his name. Even though she should be happy that he has one, now, that he’s a card-carrying, unapologetic human being with memories and the right to feelings and a name. Maybe it’s her fault again. She can’t shake the past. She can’t accept that he’s different now.

He sighs and turns on his back. “Yeah?”

It may all be her fault, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t  _ try _ . “Do you want to come over?”

There is a moment of silence and she thinks maybe he’s not awake, maybe he doesn’t really hear her. “Depends,” says his clearly not sleeping voice. “Are you going to throw me out before or after sunrise?”

She’s not confident, but she’ll try. “After.”

He seems to ponder it for a second before he pushes the sheets back, feet light on the wooden floor, she can’t see him until he comes around the room divider, his metal arm without the holographics reflecting the silver moonlight. She holds her breath while she lifts the mosquito net and the sheets for him so he can slip in, and then he’s there, his presence in her slim bed inescapable. She pushes her body against his, even more, and breathes out.

They used to be cuddly sleepers by force of necessity, never having enough space for both of them, and now they are by habit. Her brain calms a little now that he’s here. They’re going to be fine. They’re going to figure this out.

His right arm is supporting his head, his left on her back, from her waist to her shoulder, keeping her close. She buries her face in his shoulder. It’s fine. She can do this. She can handle it.

His breathing is steadier than hers. He smells a bit sweaty. She presses just a little closer against him, just a little, and slows her breathing. He presses a kiss onto her head, her hair, his left hand stroking over her shoulder blade. This is how she always wanted to sleep. Safe.

Sleep can wait, though. She enjoys his fingers trailing over her back. She grins, nosing the side of his neck, placing small kisses there. Their breathing, their heartbeats are in sync, sharing the very small space of her bed, the almost non-existent space between them.

His hand slides down the small of her back, pulling her hips against his. She moves her fingers to his left shoulder, the seam between flesh and metal, the scars that are still there, just as strong as they were. The skin is thin and smooth. His hand slips further down to grab her ass and she jumps, her nails sinking into his shoulder, her back suddenly stiff.

He pulls his head back as far as he can to look at her face. She shakes her head, forcing herself to let go of his shoulder. “Not… not now.”

He takes his hand away, which is not what she intended, shuffling back a little bit and making sure that she has some space to move away if she wants to. She sighs, dropping her head onto the pillow. “Sorry. Didn’t want to make it awkward. You can… go back if you want.”

“I’m sorry,” he corrects. “If that was too much too early. Just… can I stay here?”

“Of course.” Natasha snuggles back against him. “Stay.”

“Mhm.” He puts his head on the pillow as well and strokes her hair with his right hand. “Let’s just. Sleep.”

“Yeah.” Natasha puts a hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. “Sleep.”

 

Sam wakes up because the floor creaks, sitting up with his heart pounding. The floor creaks again, the huge figure in the middle of the room startling. “Fu- Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Sam blinks. That’s Steve’s voice. That’s Steve’s figure, too, as becomes apparent to him when his eyes get used to the darkness. The floor is wood. He blinks again. The hut. Right. Island.

He rubs his eyes. “Uh. Sure. Just went to the bathroom, huh?”

Steve pads over to his bed. “Uh. Right. Yes.”

Sam snorts. “Dude, I just woke up and already can tell you’re lying.”

Steve sighs, tossing in his bed. “I- this is going to sound weird. But- after everything, the year that never happened, all the times I watched half the people turn to dust… I keep thinking it’s going to happen again.”

“That’s not weird at all,” Sam replies, lying down. “Irrational, but totally understandable.”

“That’s not the weird part,” Steve says uncomfortably. “I couldn’t sleep, maybe because of that, and you’re under the window, in the shadow, so I couldn’t- quite make you out. And I just- had to get up and check you were still there.”

“Awww.” Sam grins at the ceiling. “That’s cute. Except for the part where you startled me awake. But I guess I’m just nervous after being on the run for so long.”

Steve sighs. “We’re all emotional wrecks, aren’t we?”

“A bit.” Sam shakes his head. “I think we might get better if we just. Take some time off.”

“Like we’re doing right now,” Steve states.

“Yeah.” Sam turns on his side. “Hey, Cap?”

“What?” Steve asks.

Sam grins. “When the floor creaked… did you almost say  _ fuck _ ?”

 

She gets nervous around five in the morning.

She knows just fine where she is. She knows they’re alone in this hut, almost alone on this island, no imminent danger there. She knows nobody will look for them in the next hours. And still she gets all twitchy and uncomfortable.

It’s at least another hour until sunrise. She promised him. She really meant it. She just can’t change the way she feels, for the better or the worse. Usually she can cover it up, endure it, but not this time. This time it feels too dangerous, too risky, too unbearable. Fatal, even.

He’s wrapped around her, sleeping. Despite her twitching. Maybe she’s hiding it better than she thought. But she can’t anymore. She kicks his shin.

He blinks and is awake within seconds, looking at her with some degree of alarm. He trusts her to keep watch, keep them safe. As he used to. Even though she failed, in some unknown way. The thought punches her in the stomach everytime she fails to avoid it.

“You need to go,” she whispers.

He pushes himself up a bit, looking around through the mosquito net. There’s nothing. It’s still dark. He’s disappointed and she can see it.

But he only sighs, kissing her forehead, then slipping out from under the sheets and pushing the mosquito net out of his way. She feels bad. Why does she always end up feeling bad?

He goes back to his bed, where he didn’t sleep. She tosses and turns a bit. It’s too empty here, the ghost of his warmth, his smell still there. No way she’ll fall asleep again. She needs to accept that and move on.

She sighs, sitting up. “Do you… do you want to go watch the sunrise?”

“Another day,” he replies, too cold for how entangled they were just minutes ago. But that was of course before she threw him out again. “I’d rather sleep.”

It’s just fair, isn’t it. She gets up, pulls a wool cardigan out of her trolley and heads to the beach on her own.

And that’s how she greets the new day. Alone, sitting in the sand, cold inside and out. And maybe, maybe just a little teary-eyed.

 

Steve, who’s always been an early bird, joins her later. They sit in the sand and eat dry toast and drink orange juice from the same bottle.

“I shouldn’t have slept with him,” Natasha mutters for the umpteenth time. “In the kitchen, after the battle. I shouldn’t have. It was too early. Now he expects- now he thinks things in my mind are way better than they actually are.”

“But you told him,” Steve reminds her. “You warned him. Several times.”

“Not good enough, apparently.” Natasha sighs, ripping off a piece of toast and throwing it toward the waves. Doesn’t fly very good. “I just shouldn’t have done it. It had to end this way. I tried so hard not to raise his expectations, but once again, I fucked it up.”

“Maybe that’s a bit my fault as well,” Steve offers. “I told you to go for it, after all.”

Natasha snorts. “Come on, that’s just a handful of a giant heap of shit. I just think- in some ways, he still gets me perfectly, probably better than anyone else, and in others just… not. Especially about relationships. I probably just changed too much.”

“That’s not necessarily bad,” Steve comments, taking a sip of orange juice. “Could be good, too. Progress.”

“If it means he’s overestimating how well I’ve worked out my feelings, then it’s bad,” Natasha counters. “I didn’t get better. I just got older and harder and more weary.”

“You don’t seem that way at all,” Steve says. “You seemed… pretty light, actually. All touchy-feely, as you would say.”

“Maybe I’ve pushed it too much.” Natasha closes her eyes. “That’s not necessarily where the mines are, so-to-speak. Some stuff is easier than other stuff. Sex, for example. Fucking him is super easy.”

“Oh, really,” Steve remarks sarcastically.

“Totally,” Natasha repeats, ignoring the undertone. “I could probably go back and do it right now. But that wouldn’t fix anything.”

“What would, then?” Steve asks. “I was under the impression that you kind of talked it out.”

“I was, too,” Natasha admits. “I mean, I wasn’t sure that he got it, so I kept saying it. I just think we have different problems and keep assuming they are the same.”

“Then tell him that,” Steve advises. “What else are you going to do?”

Natasha snorts. “I don’t know. I should just stab him. That would be the easiest thing.”

“What?” Steve repeats horrified. “No! What kind of solution is that? What kind of person would- nevermind.”

Natasha grins. “So, anyway. How was your night?”

 

“Where did she go?” Sam asks.

“Oh, just to change,” Steve replies. “Wanna sit around a bit and stare at the horizon?”

“That sounds awesome.” Sam settles on the sand, picking up the half-empty bottle. “Really? Dry toast?”

“We need to go shopping, I know,” Steve admits, handing him one. “Maybe Ioanna has more, but I don’t want to wake her.”

“She’s already been so nice to us,” Sam agrees. “Dinner yesterday was great.”

“She said there are not many guests this time of the year,” Steve explains. “She seems genuinely happy that we’re here.”

“Kind of lonely if you’re here a long time,” Sam states, munching on some toast.

Steve smiles. “Well, I’ve got you. And Natasha and Bucky.”

“Speaking of,” Sam says. “Is it me or is she taking a bit long?”

Steve sighs. “Yes. Definitely.”

 

He’s just changing when she comes in. He looks over his shoulder, just in his boxer shorts, then picks up a shirt. She closes the door, eyeing him up and down, not even subtle about it. Gosh. It’s really easy. However complicated the push and pull of her feelings, she’s just, in the end, immensely physically attracted to him.

She wordlessly pulls off her shirt and her pajama pants, grinning to herself. Fuck it. Just fuck it. They shut out all the problems before and they can do it again.

He stops, shirt still off, eyeing her. His pupils are wide. “What the hell are you doing?”

She throws her clothing in the direction of her bed and doesn’t care that it gets stuck on the room divider. “Think we can just fuck? No strings attached?”

“Jesus Christ,” he says, staring at her breasts. “Yes. If that’s what you want right now.”

“Good.” She locks the door and goes for her panties. “Because I want your dick inside of me asap.”

He sits down on his bed, pushing his boxers down, gripping himself, groaning. “Give me a minute.”

They’ve done this before. Her body lights up with anticipation. She sits next to him, pushing his hand away and stroking him herself. He closes his eyes. She knows how to touch him, how to get him fast where she needs him, and his physical reaction to her hasn’t changed at all. He bites down on his lower lip. “Fuck. You ready?”

“Almost,” she says, twisting her hand so that a moan escapes him, going straight between her legs. She lets go and slides onto his lap, gripping his shoulders to steady herself. “Now?”

He nods, not opening his eyes before she lowers herself onto his dick. It hurts a little, but just a little, and he knows not to move yet. She sighs, dropping her forehead against his, relishing the feeling. He touches her chin. “Kissing?”

She nods and his mouth is on hers in a flash, tongue pushing between her lips. He’s careful to keep her hips steady as he pulls her head towards him. Gosh, she loves him, she really does. Or maybe that’s just her lizard brain talking.

When the light pain is gone, she grips his shoulder, which leads him to grip her hips and push the rest of the way into her. She gasps at being so full. He stops again, right hand going to play with her nipple. He’s at the right spot, right amount of pressure, and he probably knows that when he flicks her nipple between his fingers and whispers: “Missed those.”

She almost screams, interrupting herself by biting into his shoulder, always the right. She can feel herself clenching, all the way up to her stomach. He shushes her softly. God. Even if fucking him makes everything worse, it might just be worth it.

She starts moving her hips but he pulls her snug against him with both hands until he’s right back pressed against that spot. Son of a bitch. The pressure in her stomach is already building again. She can’t breathe. Too much and not enough. It doesn’t even take half a minute before her back convulses and she falls forward, face contorted, mouth open silently. His smug grin says he’s going to make her do it again and again and again, until she begs him to fuck her.

This is like drinking salt water. She just needs more and more of it, needs it badlier with every sip, every shallow orgasm. And still she angles herself again, just the same way. She wants every bit of this.

It only really works when he presses into her, but he does that without hesitation, pulling carefully on her hair with his right hand, while the left arm makes sure she can’t wiggle out of the pleasuring impalement. She’s staring at him, making sure he sees the exact moment when the building wave topples over and crashes her against him. He’s cursing quietly, pinching her ass to distract himself.

She smiles when she pushes herself upright again. Her hands are feeble already. She wishes he would just fuck her into his mattress, but she is not fucked out enough to ask. Not yet. Really her fault that her emotions always get in the way. He grabs her ass with both hands, pressing up into her again, and she smiles at his attempt to nose her breasts, which she is too short for right now, and then she’s already halfway to her next orgasm and can’t care anymore. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. This feels like sore belly muscles, but she knows they’re just preparing to contract all at once, massaging his dick in the process. He loves that. One of the reasons he makes her do it so often.

The convulsion catches her almost by surprise. She’s flying forward against him and he catches her, which is good because her spine is probably gone, disintegrated or- gosh, she wants to laugh. She’s giddy. She’s finally ready to get over herself. Only took like, four orgasms. He’s grinning. “What?”

“I think my spine might have disintegrated,” she whispers in a ridiculously conspiratory tone.

“Oh,” he says amusedly, palming her breast. “That’s bad.”

She nods with the most fake-serious of faces. “I think you should lay me down and fuck me.”

He lowers her head carefully onto the pillow, twisting so he doesn’t slip out of her all the way. “How’s that going to help get your spine back?”

“Not sure that’s related,” she replies, spreading her legs. “Unless you make me want to get on top of you.”

He grins down on her, lowering himself between her legs. “Once I’m on top of you, you never want to go back.”

That’s true. Because she can never fuck him as hard as he can fuck her- anatomy, probably. There’s a time for slow and deep, at the beginning, and there’s a time for fast and hard. And she’s really for the latter right now. “Jesus Christ, just get on with it already.”

He arches his neck, licking and biting her breast. “Sshh. Might not get to do this again.”

“Are you kidding?” She asks incredulously. “You think I might never want to screw you again? Have you not noticed me being incredibly, way too much into it?”

“How’s that  _ too much _ ,” he asks back, pulling her nipple with his teeth. “There’s no too much. That’s just like the time you wondered how many orgasms are too many orgasms. No such thing.”

“I maintain that I would feel sore at some point,” Natasha replies, arching her back.

“Afterwards, sure,” he shoots back, drawing a moan from her with his teeth. “During? You’d be way too into it.”

Natasha snorts. “Then I’d pass out at some point.”

Bucky grins. “I’d be happy to test that theory sometime.”

“Of course you would,” Natasha replies. “Are you done now or do I have to promise you you’ll get to touch my boobs another time?”

“Please don’t do that.” He pushes himself back up. “Not a business deal, you know.”

“Always known,” she replies, pulling his head down to kiss him. “Now, would you be so kind and finally fuck me, I know you want to.”

He groans and snaps his hips forward. She almost squeaks. “God, I want to.”

She wraps her legs around him. “Then do it. We can go back to having a shitton of problems later.”

He grins, rolling his hips. “Shouldn’t be saying that right now, but… Gosh, I love you.”

“I-” Fuck him. Honestly. Yes. “Just fuck me, will you.”

He chuckles, closing his eyes. “Right. No strings attached.”

She rolls her eyes, even though he can't see that. “What part of casual don’t you get?”

“Doesn’t feel casual,” he remarks idly, and she doesn’t have an answer to that, so she just releases her legs’ vice around his hips so he can pull back properly and snap back into her. There’s no magic, really, just sex, sweaty bodies and pressure points and impact. Accelerated breathing. She grabs onto his arms to steady herself, closing her eyes and doing nothing, nothing except allowing herself to take in the pleasure. To feel. This is just for herself.

He groans, slipping a hand under her ass to angle her, but she pulls it back up so he can push into her harder. The bed squeaks like a bitch. Just sex. He’s just pounding into her, which is indeed very pleasurable, but it’s nothing like making love, a phrase she never got anyway. Either there is love or there isn’t, and sex isn’t going to change it one way or another. Which is why she’s not thinking about that right now. She’s not thinking at all.

He groans again, slowing down and resting his forehead on her chest. “Not- not much longer.”

“Already,” she replies and she’s more breathless than she thought.

“Shut up.” He raises his head so she can see him rolling his eyes. “You came four times.”

“And you counted,” she shoots back. “How pretentious.”

“What the fuck do you  _ want _ ?” He pounds into her, pushing the air out of her lungs. “How about you  _ say  _ that, for once, and not just be disappointed?”

Her head is spinning. It’s not fair. She can barely think about what the words coming out of his mouth mean. Let alone argue back. She can’t even care about any of it, except for his dick hammering all her right spots. On instinct, she grabs onto his back, digging her nails in, his pounding doing the rest. He groans again, not slowing down in the least. Soft, desperate noises leave her mouth. Can he just stop dragging her emotions back into it, her anger, her insecurities, her hopes? This is too much. She can’t handle it. Her body can, though, evidenced by her arching back and the breathy moans. Her body is pure bliss, desperate for just a tad more that will push her over the edge.

She screams, this time, clawing at his back, clenching around him, pulsing all over. She’s on fire. This is not like before. The pleasure takes full possession of her, head to toe. Her toes are curling just like her fingers. All thoughts are washed out of her. She’s not even sure anything is there anymore. That he’s there. Maybe this is just a fever dream.

It’s not, of course, even though she sees stars when she opens her eyes. He’s staring at her, bewildered, some part of her brain supplies, and she may be entirely boneless but she needs to get this over with right now, so she flips them over, almost falling off the bed. She pushes his wrists over his head and kisses him, devouring, and he moans into her mouth and snaps his hips up into her, and she can deal with that, she can handle it, she can rock her hips and rub her clitoris against him and close her eyes because it feels so good. She’s sweaty all over and his right hand slips out of her grip to grab her breast and pull her forward, her lips end up on his almost by accident, and he holds her and fucks up into her and she’s mewling. Fucked out. She’s not even sure whether or not she comes when he rams into her one last time, but she thinks she’s clenching, he’s definitely throbbing, death-grip on her hips and closed eyes, contorted face. She watches him attentively, fondly, now that he doesn’t pay attention to her. She thinks about his cum filling her up and clenches just a little bit. His grip loosens and she lowers her head onto his chest. It’s probably the hormones that make her so fucked out, cuddly, lovey-dovey. She should just shut up and not do anything.

He doesn’t say or do anything either, just running his fingers over her back, which is probably for the best because this will just turn into a disaster once again. Dread mixes into the relief. They’re going to have to talk about this, aren’t they. It’s going to be painful and then when it seems it’s all clear now, she’ll slip up in some way, probably by bedding him, because she is weak that way, and then they’ll be just as bad as before. She dreads it.

The sweat and other bodily fluids are starting to get uncomfortable and when she shifts a bit, he takes the clue and turns her on her back, not quite slipping out of her yet, but kissing her deeply, and it’s easy. She doesn’t even have to think of all the things they threw at each other. She buries her fingers in his hair and he’s the one to pull away.

She sighs and lets her head drop back. She can see him checking out her breasts out of the corner of her eye. At least she’s not the only one. “Could you-?”

He nods, taking a deep breath before gathering her in his arms, pushing the mosquito net out of the way and carrying her over to the bathroom. She drips a bit onto the floor before he puts her in the shower. The water feels cold when she turns it on, even though it’s at least luke-warm, but she’s overheated. He wipes the floor, throwing the toilet paper away, then climbing into the shower as well, and she turns her back to him instinctively, washing herself. If he does it, they’ll just get distracted again.

She sighs, turning around. There’s not enough space to stand any way but close, they’re naked, physically and emotionally, and the scent of their coupling is not quite washed away yet. It’s not as bad as she thought, though. His look is not sour or accusatory, rather a little confused. “Let’s talk in the evening,” she finds the courage to say. “Okay?”

He nods, reaching behind her, turning the water all the way up. It crashes down on them and washes away all their sins.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has environmental concerns. Bucky and Natasha talk it out. Sam tries to get some answers.

 

“You took quite a while,” Sam remarks.

“Yeah.” Natasha swipes over her screen. “You know, when you get stuck on your phone.”

Bucky looks slightly offended. “We should go shopping today,” Steve states. “What do we need?”

“Food,” Bucky says.

Steve snorts. “Thanks. A little more specific?”

“We should get rice,” Sam suggests. “Muesli. Pasta. Probably some cans.”

“I’ll ask Ioanna for some space in the fridge,” Natasha announces, putting down her phone.

“That’s a lot more helpful,” Steve mutters, jotting everything down.

“Really, you write that shit down?” Bucky asks. “I didn’t realize you were  _ that _ old.”

“Oh, you want to talk about old?” Steve shoots back. “Eggs.”

“Cabbage,” Natasha adds. “If they have it.”

Sam stares at her in confusion. “Cabbage? Nobody likes cabbage.”

“ _ I  _ like cabbage,” Natasha replies. “And last time I checked, I was somebody.”

“Some green stuff probably wouldn’t be bad,” Bucky agrees, putting his feet on the railing. “Fruit.”

“Way better,” Steve comments, still taking notes. “If we get muesli, we need milk.”

“Water,” Natasha adds. “We’re almost out.”

“I hate plastic bottles,” Steve mutters. “There was one on the beach.”

“Of course he picked it up and threw it into the recycling bin,” Sam adds.

“We wouldn’t expect less,” Natasha comments with a smile.

“The ferry leaves in an hour,” Steve announces. “We shouldn’t miss that.”

“Really? All of us?” Sam asks. “Steve, how much do you plan on buying?”

Steve grins. “Hey, you can stay back. Wouldn’t want you to get seasick.”

“What? No,” Sam replies. “What am I going to do all alone? My phone is dead. No clue how you get signal around here.”

Natasha shrugs. “I’ll go ask Ioanna about the fridge.”

“One day I’m going to get an actual answer out of her,” Sam mutters, getting up as well. “Alright. Thanks for the sunscreen.”

“That’s Nat’s,” Bucky replies. “Don’t look at me like that, you can keep it. Just saying.”

Steve rolls his eyes but stays seated. Sam strolls over to the next hut. Natasha is halfway in the big house already. “You okay?”

“Me?” Bucky asks back. “Yeah.”

“I meant you two,” Steve specifies.

Bucky groans and rubs his face. “Yeah, let’s not get into that.”

“That bad?” Steve asks.

Bucky sighs. “I don’t know. It’s- I don’t know, ask her.”

“Kind of did,” Steve answers. “She’s trying. Just talk to her.”

Bucky shields his eyes, looking at the house Natasha just disappeared in. “Maybe let things cool down a bit first.”

“Wait, cool down, why-” Steve grips the table. “Oh no. You didn’t.”

“Steve, you don’t get to tell us jack shit,” Bucky says coldly.

“What happened to taking it slow?” Steve complains. “That’s not slow. Not by any measure.”

“That has nothing to do with that,” Bucky argues back. “That didn’t mean anything. She was pretty clear about that.”

“Wow, you’re both idiots.” Steve snorts. “Keep deluding yourselves, sure. But don’t come to me complaining that it’s all too fast.”

“Won’t,” Bucky promises sarcastically.

“Good that we have that out of the way,” Steve returns just as sarcastically.

Bucky sighs. “I was a bit mean to her, though. Then again, last time she was mean to me, so I guess it balances out.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah. You deserve each other.”

* * *

“Really?” Bucky hisses. “On your phone? I should be mad.”

“What, they totally bought it,” Natasha replies, calmly picking out bananas. “Also, that’s why you should date a spy. They don’t take secrets and lies personally.”

Bucky sighs, holding the totes bag open for her. “I guess it’s not personal.”

“Exactly.” Natasha dumps half a dozen bananas in there. “Also, you didn’t really want me to tell them how you screwed the shit out of me.”

“I’m sure you could have left out the _ details _ ,” Bucky replies, picking some bell peppers. “Just tell them we fucked.”

“Quality is not a detail,” Natasha counters, considering a coconut. “Think you can break that with your hands?”

“I-” This would never have occurred to him. “Maybe. Probably?”

Natasha nods, putting the coconut in the bag, then starts expertly haggling with the vendor. Bucky turns around to see Steve and Sam arguing about water and walks over.

“Sure, get the big tank,” Sam suggests. “If you carry it.”

“But it’s not returnable,” Steve complains. “Then again, it’s less plastic…”

“I bet the others aren’t returnable either.” Sam picks one up to check. “And I was right. Get the tank, come on.”

Steve sighs heavily, staring at the tank. “I was doing so well avoiding plastic.”

“What,” Bucky asks incredulously. “How? In this century?”

“I only used reusable bottles,” Steve starts enumerating. “I bought fruit and vegetables without packaging, I carry a totes bag in order to not need plastic ones, no more coffee to go, even though I was going to get a reusable travel mug-”

Sam groans. “Thanks, Barnes, for asking that. Where’s Nat?”

Bucky points his head in her direction without even looking. “Probably making the deal of her life.”

“That poor vendor,” Sam states. “Come on, let’s pay for this.”

Steve hands the vendor his money with a grave look. Natasha shows up randomly at Bucky’s side. “Why did you go? I wanted to play the arguing-couple-card.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, maybe I didn’t want to do that.”

“Did you get your cabbage?” Sam asks.

“This Russian girl did,” Natasha replies, rummaging through her bag. “Though we forgot something significant.”

“What?” Bucky asks.

“Seafood,” Steve answers, sighing. “So much fish. Let’s go over there.”

“But what if they don’t have their sustainably-fished-label?” Sam teases.

Steve sighs. “Come on. Overfishing is not funny.”

“Yes, Captain Planet,” Sam agrees.

* * *

“Steve thinks we shouldn’t have sex,” Bucky mentions. “Too early.”

“You told him?” Natasha snorts, uncorking a bottle of wine. “Of course he thinks that. He gets only trouble and none of the benefits.”

“Also true,” Bucky admits. “I mean, that’s not really the source of the problem, is it?”

“No,” Natasha agrees. “The problem is expectations. And sleeping together. In the same room, I mean. How did we even end up doing that? We literally said separate rooms.”

“Well, we don’t have rooms, we have cabins,” Bucky reminds her. “And I guess Sam insisted on not sharing with us. And three cabins for four people seems ridiculous.”

Natasha sighs. “Is it okay if I ask Steve if he and I can change? It’s not about you, it’s about-”

“Your expectation that when we sleep in the same room, we also sleep in the same bed,” Bucky completes. “I get that. Now.”

Natasha pours wine into the paper cups, looking away, yet not missing a single drop. “You were disappointed, weren’t you?”

“I just thought…” Bucky starts drumming his human fingers on the wooden table. “I thought you’d gotten rid of all that shit. It was more than ten years ago. So much changed in your life, but somehow…”

“I didn’t want to deal with it,” Natasha replies. “It was painful. It was easy to push in a dark corner. That’s pretty much it. I didn’t want to know how I fucked it up and I didn’t want to feel the guilt of it.”

“Wait, you think  _ you  _ fucked up?” Bucky asks incredulously. “You were the best spy in the world. You knew everything about lying and pretending and deceiving. There’s no way you’d given a secret like that away.”

Natasha snorts. “Oh, so you want to load all the guilt on yourself, as per usual.”

Bucky grins. “I guess we’ll never know.”

“Alright, let’s not argue about who got us caught,” Natasha says, pushing a paper cup over to him. “And let’s agree that I am mentally way too stuck in the past.”

“There’s no way I’m not,” Bucky adds. “So that makes two of us. I just thought you’d be better at it.”

Natasha grins. “You always think I’m better at everything.”

“Usually it’s true,” Bucky counters. “Because you are amazing.”

Natasha shakes her head. “It’s just, wasn’t that their punishment? For you to forget, and for me to remember? Because I remember. Vividly.”

“Well, I also remember,” Bucky answers. “And you were the one good part in all of it.”

Natasha snorts. “God, I forgot how cheesy you could be.”

Bucky grins. “I try. Oh, and sorry for saying I love you. That was definitely too early.”

“Don’t worry.” Natasha takes a sip of wine. “Doesn’t count anyway as long as you’re balls-deep inside of me.”

Bucky snorts. “Right. Good rule.”

“And you were probably right about me not knowing what I want and being disappointed anyway,” Natasha adds. “It’s not… fair, I guess.”

“I just- I want to do this and I want to do this right,” Bucky explains. “But sometimes it feels like there is no way that I’m not doing it wrong. And, sorry to say, but you kind of send mixed signals here.”

“It sounds fake, but that’s because it’s not you, it’s me,” Natasha replies. “On one hand, I want things to be like they were, but on the other, I’m really scared of that.”

“I don’t want to be scared anymore,” Bucky states. “I don’t want that back at all. I want to stay in your bed until noon when Sam starts hammering against our door and I want to tell Steve we fucked. We don’t need any of the fears anymore.”

Natasha sighs. “Yes. But also, I’m just, kind of, a private person, I guess. You said you didn’t need us to be off-guard.”

“It’s okay to care what other people know and think,” Bucky admits. “That’s normal. You throwing me out before sunrise without any reason, that’s not normal.”

“Yeah.” Natasha snorts. “That’s paranoia. I know. I just- I’ll ask Steve.”

“Some external restrictions would probably be for the best,” Bucky agrees. “And that effectively kills the sex question.”

Natasha snorts. “Yeah, let’s not do that again. Steve would kill us.”

“I was so amazed you didn’t have a problem with that,” Bucky states. “Like, that’s the most obvious thing we’ve ever done. And you just brushed it off.”

“Honestly, sex is just- just not a problem,” Natasha admits. “I don’t care if they know about that. Weirdly enough, I pretty much only have a problem with sleeping in with you.”

Bucky sighs. “That’s trauma, I guess. I don’t remember much of that part, they must have hit me with that tranquilizer pretty quickly.”

“They did,” Natasha mutters. “They waltzed in, we were sleeping, and… yeah.”

“Even if it was your fault,” Bucky replies, pushing a hand in her direction, “and I still don’t think it was… Even then, I shot you,  _ twice _ , since then. You’re not the guilty one here, by any measure.”

Natasha sighs. “Come on, you had to. And it’s… we had plans to get out, didn’t we? If only we hadn’t been caught, we would have been free and you would never have had to hurt me.”

“Wow.” Bucky snorts. “But I’m the one always blaming myself, or what?”

Natasha smiles weakly. “Ultimately, since we can’t turn back time anymore, none of this matters. Except the fact that I can’t stand you being in my bed after five in the morning.”

“I don’t know, but maybe that Soul World thingy actually helped with that,” Bucky muses. “I know, I was not actually there as of now, but… Being with you, in my mind, it doesn’t seem like such a stretch anymore in real life.”

Natasha snorts. “Great. Now I have to live up to your idealized version of me.”

“Oh no, you’re way better than I imagined,” Bucky counters. “With one exception. You weren’t afraid of anything or anyone.”

“And there we go,” Natasha says sarcastically. “I wasn’t, by any chance, still 21 or had larger, gravity-defying breasts?”

“I didn’t notice any difference,” Bucky replies with amusement. “As for your age, I can’t really tell. I guess it was a mix.”

“Hey, guys with booze,” Sam shouts from the beach. “Mind if I join?”

They both reply “Yes”, but in very different tones. Sam comes over anyway. Bucky rolls his eyes, but grins. “Well. Anything you want to get done before you ask Steve or…?”

Natasha snorts, pushing her chair back. “You’re awfully confident, Soldier.”

* * *

“I just need a bit of distance,” Natasha explains. “Not a lot. Just not-sleeping-in-the-same-room-distance.”

“Of course we can,” Steve agrees. “I mean, you told Bucky and he agreed?”

Natasha snorts. “Yeah, yeah. And we both agreed that I don’t make any sense overall, but whatever.”

“People don’t make sense, remember?” Steve reminds her with amusement. “You told me that.”

“Yes,” Natasha replies, horrified. “But usually, I’m not a  _ people _ .”

Steve snorts. “Too bad. Deal with it.”

“Anyway, I’ll take over your bed, bring some stuff over,” Natasha says. “Hope that’ll make things easier.”

“How about you don’t lie to Sam this time,” Steve suggests. “Just pragmatically, three out of four people know, that won’t hold.”

“First off, your assumption here is that I didn’t just lie to you,” Natasha starts. “Secondly, if someone asks you what you did and what you did is screw someone’s brains out, the polite thing is to  _ lie _ .”

Steve rolls his eyes. “All your semantics here won’t make Sam any less mad when he finds out.”

Natasha grins. “Right. And we wouldn’t want that.”

“Hey doll,” Bucky interrupts. “Care to go for a walk?”

“If you didn’t call me  _ doll, _ ” Natasha replies, “I might consider it.”

Bucky chuckles and extends a hand. To Steve’s surprise, Natasha smiles and takes it. Sam stares at their receding figures. “Did they just… wander off into the sunset?”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, don’t worry. They won’t get far here. Listen, would you mind sleeping with Natasha?”

Sam’s eyes widen. “Dude! Choose your words carefully. Yes, I  _ would _ mind that.”

Steve chuckles. “Not interested?”

“She’s way too scary,” Sam replies adamantly.

“Anyway, what I actually wanted to say.” Steve rubs his face. “Natasha asked me to change beds with her because she thinks it’s best if she doesn’t sleep in the same room as Bucky.”

“Totally understandable,” Sam agrees. “I also think it’s best if I don’t sleep in a room with Barnes.”

Steve snorts. “You two. So, no problem for you?”

“No,” Sam repeats. “But let’s move that room divider over, I don’t want her to stab my eyes out if I catch her changing.”

“I thought you weren’t interested,” Steve repeats amusedly.

“That’s  _ precisely  _ why,” Sam replies. “Also, there’s some weird magnetic shit going on with her ass.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.”

Sam grins. “Oh, you ain’t heard nothing yet.”

* * *

“I forgot,” Bucky says. “You screamed.”

“Yes, that sometimes happens when I have an orgasm,” Natasha states the obvious. “You really need that explained again?”

Bucky sighs. “When you screamed… for a moment, I thought I had hurt you. Badly.”

Natasha frowns. “Really? That sounds the same?”

“Not exactly, probably, but…” Bucky shakes his head. “Similar enough.”

“Well, you didn’t,” Natasha says. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“I realized that pretty quickly when you threw me on my back,” Bucky agrees amusedly. “Which you should do more often, by the way.”

“Before that, there’s plenty of stuff we haven’t even done yet this time around,” Natasha points out. “For example, you haven’t spent a single second with your head between my legs.”

Bucky grins widely. “How could I forget that. Wanna rectify that right now?”

Natasha looks around. They’re out of sight from the cabins, there’s only beach around them, some palm trees, some rocks. “Here? We’ll have sand everywhere.”

“Probably,” Bucky agrees nonchalantly. “Want to?”

“I-” She doesn’t know. The image is arousing. They’ll probably not get around to it until she moves back into his hut. Then again-

“If you’re not sure, then it’s no,” Bucky interrupts her thought process. “Don’t stress about it. We have time. The offer stands, though, so just… say the word. Anytime.”

Natasha snorts. “This is just going to end in a back alley again, isn’t it.”

Bucky points around, grinning. “Beach is more likely this time.”

“Also,” Natasha adds, slipping her hand back into his. “ _ Eat me out  _ is three words.”

“Hm.” He bites his lip. “What about  _ now _ ?”

“Really?” Natasha asks with amusement. “Every time I say  _ now _ , you’ll take that as a sign that I want you to go down on me?”

Bucky chuckles. “Okay. Bad idea. I’ll never be able to focus on a conversation again.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Natasha agrees.

“I guess three words is not too much to ask,” Bucky states. “Maybe even a sentence, if you’re feeling particularly talkative.”

“In a cost-benefit-analysis, darling,” Natasha whispers seductively. “I’d write you a whole essay.”

“Oh.” Bucky grins. “A novel?”

Natasha snorts. “Yeah, let’s not go that far.”

* * *

Sam stares at the section of beach where two people are walking, laughing, holding hands. “Honestly, them dating is so weird to me. I never thought they had anything in common.”

“Oh, but they do,” Steve replies, trying to ignite the coals. “I always hoped Nat would talk to him about the whole coming out of brainwashing thing at some point.”

Sam snorts. “Yeah, well. If they only talked…”

“Also, she is so exactly his type it’s not even funny,” Steve adds. “Dorky humor, takes no shit from anyone, especially him, cares a lot about her job but is always willing to bend the rules. And he always liked redheads.”

Sam grins. “Well, if you say it like that. Add in some shared life-experience that you talk so much about…”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Come on. It’s important.”

“Sure, man,” Sam replies with amusement. “So is that what you and Sharon were missing?”

“I don’t think so.” Steve sighs. “We separated on good terms. It’s just that our lives and jobs took us in different directions.”

“Wow,” Sam says. “Now I feel like it’s my fault for calling you away.”

“That was important, you had every right to call me,” Steve replies. “And then she got that job in Mexico and… I don’t know, it was bound to happen.”

“You’re awfully calm about it,” Sam remarks. “For it being your first breakup.”

Steve snorts. “Not the first. There was- wow, Peggy was also outside circumstances.”

Sam grins. “Makes you wonder what would happen if next time, nothing came in between, doesn’t it?”

“I’d love that,” Steve agrees. “Though it doesn’t seem likely at this point.”

“Hm.” Sam looks at the horizon. “Would you be willing to give it a shot?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve agrees. “In a heartbeat.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha is evil or brilliant, depending on whom you ask. Sam gets drunk. Steve is oblivious. Bucky missed quite a lot.

 

“Hey Sam.” Natasha strolls in with a bottle of wine. “Want to get drunk?”

“You’re the devil,” Sam replies, sitting up on his bed. “Only one bottle?”

“Don’t worry,” Natasha replies, feeling under Steve’s former bed. “I also smuggled vodka.”

“Yeah, that settles it.” Sam lies down again. “Urgh. Last time. I don’t even remember what I told you.”

“Everything,” Natasha replies nonchalantly, pouring him a paper cup. “This time, I’ve already had a few.”

“Stop trying to lower my defense.” Sam takes the cup from her hand. “So, what did Barnes do?”

“Him? Nothing.” Natasha pours her own cup without looking up.

“So why were you on the beach at the asscrack of dawn?” Sam questions.

Natasha sighs. “Look, there are- things that happened, that didn’t go well, that were nobody’s fault or at least nobody’s intention. And I can’t get over those things even though I know I should.”

“Wow,” Sam states. “You know, I’ve always admired how you say nothing with  _ so  _ many words.”

Natasha snorts. “Why don’t you want to tell me what you’ve been up to in Soul World?”

“Straight to the attack, right?” Sam downs his cup. “None of your business.”

“Did you make out with someone?” Natasha asks.

“I- Who would do that?” Sam asks back. “That’s weird.”

“Well, guess who did,” Natasha replies.

“Barnes?” Sam asks incredulously. “And you’re okay with that?”

Natasha shrugs. “It’s just extensive fantasizing. If it made him happy.”

“Yeah, but-” Sam shakes his head. “Really? You don’t mind that?”

Natasha smirks. “Why, did you also dream about me?”

“Wha- Nooo.” Sam covers his eyes. “No. Nooo. Urgh, that would be weird.”

“You keep saying that,” Natasha remarks.

“Because it is!” Sam claims. “I mean, what if the other person didn’t want that?”

“Well, it doesn’t affect them.” Natasha takes his cup and pours him another. “They might never know.”

“Yeah, but- Then you’d still have to talk to that person afterwards and pretend nothing ever happened, even though it did, in your mind at least-” Sam looks at the paper cup she’s handing him. “You’re just handing me more rope to hang myself, aren’t you?”

Natasha smirks. “Come on. Just say it. I’m great at keeping secrets.”

Sam snorts. “Thanks, but not this time.”

“Oh.” Natasha opens the vodka. “We’ll see about that.”

* * *

 

“He sounded so sad,” Sam groans. “I just wanted to hug him.”

“Mhm.” Natasha takes a sip of vodka. “You should have.”

“Probably.” Sam sighs, staring at the ceiling. “I keep replaying these moments. Now I have one more.”

“What other moments?” Natasha asks.

Sam groans. “You know, all those shitty motels we crashed at and Steve always let you have a separate room because he’s old-fashioned? And one time, we only had cash for a single’s left, and the lady was like, I hope you’re okay with sharing a bed, and Steve blushed terribly, as he does? And what do I do, me, the helpful friend who’s never ever getting laid? I pull out the credit card you gave me. God, just thinking about it.”

Natasha hums. “What would you have done differently?”

“I’d have asked kind of diffusely whether he’s okay sharing a bed with a guy,” Sam starts telling. “He probably would have said something about Bucky or being in the army, something dismissive. We would have gone up and I’d’ve brushed my teeth while he showers because the man looks like a god.”

Natasha snorts softly. “Some Greek statue, yeah.”

“And when the lights are off, I’d ask whether he ever slept with a guy, and when he’d say no, I’d tell him about Riley and all that, and then I’d just touch him, not creepily, just the shoulder or something, and then we would- why am I telling you all of this?”

Natasha grins. “And he literally asked you what you saw in the Soul World?”

“He did.” Sam sighs. “I just, in my mind, he wanted that, of course, but what if, in reality, he doesn’t? It would be so weird if I asked and he didn’t want to.”

“So you’re just never going to ask?” Natasha suggests.

Sam groans. “I don’t know! I thought, maybe, on a lonely island, without any work to do, I’d find some subtle way to- But he is totally preoccupied with you and Barnes getting it on.”

“Don’t blame me,” Natasha replies. “He’s totally oblivious. That’s not my fault.”

“I asked him-” Sam sighs. “All about people he dated, and whether he’s ready for something new, and he never once asked back.”

“He doesn’t like to talk about it,” Natasha says. “You need to share something about yourself first, then he opens up.”

“You’re evil,” Sam repeats, sitting up. “Can I have another?”

“Sure.” Natasha pours another shot.

Sam sighs, settling with his back against the wall. “I really shouldn’t do that. We’re friends. I like us as friends.”

“Why would you have to choose?” Natasha questions.

“Well, if things go right-” Sam closes his eyes. “If things go wrong, it’s gonna be super awkward. That would risk everything. I don’t want to lose that.”

“Come on, you’re a guy who jumps off of buildings,” Natasha reminds him. “You’re really going to play this 100% safe forever?”

Sam groans. “But what do I do? What do I do?”

There’s a knock on the door and Natasha gets up to get it. Completely steady, the traitor. She probably didn’t drink all that much. Or her Russian genes just take it.

Sam’s heart sinks when the door opens and it’s Steve. Great. Not now. Really not now. “Hey,” Steve says. “I forgot a few things. Mind if I come in?”

“Absolutely,” Natasha replies pulling the door all the way open. “There’s some of your stuff in the bathroom. And you left your magazine on the shelf.”

“Oh, I already finished that,” Steve replies, going straight to the bathroom. “Actually, maybe you want to read parts of it as well. There’s a piece about Russian impressionism you might enjoy.”

“I’ll check it out,” Natasha promises. “Actually, you know what, I’ll just sneak over and get some stuff from my suitcase.”

Sam shoots her a pleading look. Don’t go. Traitor. You’re evil. Don’t-

“Sure, see you later,” Steve replies, and with one last smirk in Sam’s direction, Natasha is out of the door. Great.

“So,” Steve remarks conversationally. “She got you drunk again, huh?”

Sam groans. “Be glad you’re immune to that. The worst part is, it actually feels  _ good  _ to pour your heart out to her.”

“She can get that just as well without alcohol,” Steve assures him. “Have you seen my grey cardigan?”

Sam blinks. “Don’t think so. Under your pillow?”

Steve lifts the pillow. “No, unfortunately not.”

“Well, I’m not getting up and helping you,” Sam announces. “I’m not getting up at all.”

Steve gives him a worried look. “You’re okay, aren’t you? How much did you have?”

“Ask her,” Sam replies sourly. “I’m  _ fine _ .”

Steve moves to sit on the floor in front of his bed, just where Natasha was sitting minutes ago. “You should drink some water. Do you want me to stay? I can ask Nat, wouldn’t be a problem.”

“You don’t need to worry about me that much,” Sam says.

Steve smiles. “Well, that’s what friends do, right?”

Sam snorts, rubbing his face. “Friends. Right.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Steve inquires.

“I just-” Sam sighs, dropping his hand. “I don’t think I want to talk about it.”

“Okay.” Steve shakes his head. “But maybe you should. It’s not good to bottle things up that way. Ask Bruce.”

“I already talked to Nat,” Sam tries.

Steve looks down. “Of course. If you’d rather talk to her.”

“I don’t- she’s just  _ easy _ ,” Sam complains. “You, with your disappointed puppy eyes and your always perfectly moral behavior, and your inspiring speeches and- I just can’t bear that, okay?”

“Sam,” Steve says calmly. “I’ve never been disappointed by you. I’ll never be disappointed by you. I’m far from perfect myself. Know that you can always, always talk to me about everything.”

“Everything?” Sam questions. “Are you sure about that?”

“Everything,” Steve promises. “Especially if it is important to you.”

Sam sighs and rubs his face. “Steve. I’m drunk. I’m making a complete fool of myself.”

“You’re not,” Steve replies with amusement in his voice. “But we don’t have to talk about it now. Just promise that we will.”

Sam groans. “Fine. Fine, whatever, Captain No Moral Failings.”

“Stop calling me that,” Steve claims, still amused. “That’s not true and you know it.”

Sam groans. “In the next days. Okay? Can I continue pitying myself now?”

“If you really want to.” Steve gets up. “I’ll ask Bucky about the cardigan. And, really, drink some water, wouldn’t want you dehydrated.”

* * *

 

“Great timing,” Natasha remarks. “Think it’ll work?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky replies. “I just hid his grey cardigan, as you said.”

Natasha looks around. “Where did you put it?” Bucky points to the sheets of Steve’s bed. “That’s good, he always keeps that stuff around his bed.”

“Old habit,” Bucky agrees. “So, what about you? Drunk?”

“Mhm, not really,” Natasha replies, experimentally going on her toes. “No. Didn’t have that much.”

Bucky grins. “Let me smell.”

Natasha smirks, bows down to where he is sitting on his bed and breathes against his face. Bucky sniffs, then quickly leans in and steals a kiss before she pulls back. “Hey. That’s tasting.”

“No, tasting is deeper,” Bucky argues. “Like when I push my tongue into your mouth or your-”

“Steve could come back at any moment,” Natasha interrupts. “And I’ll be perfectly innocent, sifting through my trolley.”

Bucky snorts. “Why didn’t you just take that thing over with you?”

“Because it’s heavy,” Natasha replies casually. “And I’m sure you don’t mind me coming over all the time to get my things.”

“Oh, no.” Bucky grins, laying down. “Not at all.”

“So,” Natasha suggests, pulling underwear out of her suitcase. “Tell me something about Steve.”

Bucky snorts. “What, without getting me drunk first?”

Natasha smirks dangerously. “We both know I wouldn’t have to.”

Bucky sighs, staring at the ceiling. “I just- Sometimes, it feels like, in hindsight, I cared only about keeping him safe and not sick and that I kind of forgot to think about what made him happy.”

“That happens when those two are in conflict,” Natasha says, stretching out her legs. “I guess you learned your lesson.”

“I mean, I feel less responsible for him now,” Bucky agrees. “So, yeah.”

Natasha snorts. “Well, you’re certainly less big-brothering him.” There is a knock on the door. “Wow, we certainly scarred him last time. Knocking on his own door.”

“Just come in, punk,” Bucky yells, not bothering to get up.

Steve carefully pushes the door open. “Jeesh. One never knows with you guys.”

“It was literally one time,” Natasha replies. “How is Sam?”

“Okay, I guess.” Steve drops his stuff in the bathroom. “Did you get whatever it was that you wanted?”

“Probably,” Natasha replies, smirking.

“You’ll look after him, right?” Steve asks. “Oh, there’s my cardigan.”

“What a coincidence,” Bucky remarks innocently.

“Sure will,” Natasha says before Steve can think about anything. “Alright, boys, I’m leaving. Good night.”

Bucky tries giving her puppy eyes, but it only makes her smirk and pull the door closed behind her. Steve grins. “Sad to see her go?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Bucky answers, pulling the covers over him.

“Well, that’s really too bad for you,” Steve replies, squeezing out toothpaste. “Nothing you can do.”

“I know, punk,” Bucky mutters. “How about you shut up about it?”

* * *

 

“Well, good morning, Sam,” Natasha greets him, pouring him a cup of orange juice. “You look just radiant.”

“You’re pure evil,” Sam replies, downing the cup. “Gah, I’m hungover. Where’s Steve?”

“Off running,” Natasha explains. “Why don’t you sit down with us?”

Sam snorts, but takes a seat. “Is that also a part of your master plan?”

“What plan?” Bucky asks innocently.

“Come on,” Sam replies sourly. “You were totally in on it.”

“I’m in on nothing,” Bucky says. “Except-”

“ _ Anyway _ ,” Natasha interrupts. “What did you tell him?”

Sam sighs, grabbing some toast. “I promised him we would talk. That’s your fault. I totally blame you.”

Natasha smirks. “It’s only for your best.”

“That only makes it slightly less bad,” Sam replies. “You could also, ya know, not meddle in other people’s lives.”

Natasha fake-gasps. “So, I just watch you all constantly fuck up? Nah.”

“So generous of you,” Bucky comments sarcastically, sipping his coffee.

“Of course,” Natasha replies generously. “You’re my friends, after all.”

“I don’t want to see how you treat your enemies,” Sam mutters. “Actually, I know how you treat your enemies and I still don’t want to see it.”

Natasha grins. “So, you’re locked in now. When are you going to talk to him? What are you going to say?”

“Natashenka,” Bucky remarks amusedly. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Yes,” Sam agrees. “Why don’t you two go somewhere private and do whatever you do and leave me alone?”

“You know what, we should lock ourselves in your cabin,” Natasha suggests. “Because, Steve has to shower.”

“That won’t  _ work _ ,” Bucky counters.

“You two are the worst,” Sam sighs.

“Why are you sabotaging yourself?” Natasha complains to Bucky. “You might have gotten laid.”

“And you’re getting weird again,” Sam comments.

“Hey, you started that, in this case,” Bucky returns. “Also, I’m not letting my eggs go cold because of  _ might _ .”

Natasha stares at him. “Darling. We need to work on your priorities.”

Bucky grins. “Looking forward to it.”

Sam groans. “ _ Guys. _ ”

* * *

 

“So,” Steve starts awkwardly. “Sam was okay? Yesterday?”

Natasha pretends not to enjoy this question very much. “Oh, he was asleep already. Kind of hungover this morning, maybe don’t poke him with a stick.”

“Wouldn’t do that anyway,” Steve says, leaning against the counter. “And your night? Better this time?”

“Yeah,” Natasha confirms, turning the tap on again. “Was a good decision. Let’s just keep it that way for a while.”

“Sure, your call,” Steve agrees. “Need help?”

“I’m a grown girl, I can do the dishes on my own,” Natasha replies. “Also, I’ll use that to make those idiots feel sorry later.”

Steve grins. “Of course. I’ll just do the drying. Did you go swimming yet?”

“Dipped in a toe,” Natasha answers. “Not much more, though. Want to, later?”

“Would love to.” Steve shakes his head. “You know, I’ve gotten so used to not having Bucky around. But Sam… you kept giving me these looks when I turned around to ask someone’s opinion who’s not there. And now I moved to the next hut and even that is difficult.”

Natasha grins. “Want to change back?”

“No!” Steve protests. “Just- tell me when  _ you _ want to change back.”

“Of course,” Natasha assures him.

Steve grins. “You know… Bucky got kind of grumpy after you left.”

Natasha smirks. “Oh, I know. I know.”

* * *

 

“I have to say, your disemboweling looks really professional,” Natasha compliments. “You know I appreciate efficient knife work.”

“Thanks,” Steve replies gleefully, handing her the first fish. “Sharon taught me. She loves seafood.”

“Who’s Sharon?” Bucky asks, confused.

“You don’t know who Sharon is?” Sam asks back incredulously.

“It’s the blonde that he made out with that one time, right?” Bucky tries. “Right?”

Steve sighs. “Yes. That’s her. We- we moved in together. When we were both on the run. Me for breaking the law and her for helping me break the law.”

“You moved- how do I not know anything of this?” Bucky repeats incredulously. “Seriously, you could have told me! Did you sleep with her? Please tell me you slept with her.”

Steve groans and hides his face behind his hand, which, considering its size, works very well. “Bucky. That’s really inappropriate.”

“Yeah, he did,” Natasha throws in casually.

“Wow,” Sam remarks. “You’re such a traitor.”

“Ohhh.” Bucky grins. “Well, finally. How was it? Tell me  _ everything.” _

“Certainly not,” Steve replies, trying to turn the furious blushing down. “You wouldn’t tell me anything about Nat either.”

“No.” Natasha casually flips her knife. “He wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, but that was your first time,” Bucky counters. “And if I remember correctly, I did, at the time, tell you quite a lot about it.”

Steve’s blushing reaches the next level. “Wow,” Natasha remarks. “That’s kind of every girl’s nightmare.”

“It wasn’t disrespectful or anything,” Bucky defends. “I just gave him  _ advice _ .”

“Sure, because you were suddenly an expert,” Sam comments sarcastically. “Let me assume, it didn’t help at all?”

“That was over 70 years ago,” Steve mumbles, picking at his fish. “I don’t even really remember what he said.”

Bucky grins. “Oh, you need a refresher?”

Natasha shushes him. “Don’t ask a guy for sex advice. Ask a woman. Like, incidentally, me.”

“So, when you do it, it’s suddenly okay?” Bucky complains.

“You know, having friends is kind of a recent development for me,” Natasha replies. “Also, I would give advice, not information.”

“Of course, that only applies to sex with women,” Sam remarks.

“You know who has plenty of experience in terms of sex with guys?” Natasha asks. “Me. So suck it.”

Bucky bursts out laughing and consequently chokes on his food. “Gee, don’t take everything literally,” Natasha says. “Stop dying.”

Bucky coughs a couple of times but can’t help grinning. “Come- on. You did that on purpose.”

“Ya think,” Natasha replies. “Really?”

“You do everything on purpose,” Sam remarks bitterly. “You wouldn’t blink without purpose.”

“Yes, the purpose is to keep my eyes from drying out,” Natasha replies sarcastically. “Really nefarious.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha is secretly a very bookish person. Steve enjoys his beach vacation. Bucky has enough honest talks for a whole week. Sam stares down into the abyss.

 

“What are you reading?” Sam asks.

Natasha flips her book and realizes the cover is in Russian. “Oh. Nabokov.”

“Isn’t that the Lolita guy?” Sam remarks. “Kind of up your alley.”

“What the hell is  _ that  _ supposed to mean,” Natasha returns, opening the book again.

“Oh, you know,” Sam tries. “Age gap.”

Natasha snorts. “It was nothing like that. Also, you want to talk to me about age difference?”

Sam sighs. “I’m just trying to get you mad enough to give me actual information. But I’m bad at it, I guess.”

“Or I’m really good at not giving in,” Natasha suggests. “You want to know how old I was when James and I met, is that it?”

“Yes,” Sam agrees. “That would be nice.”

“21,” Natasha replies. “I was 21.”

Sam squints. “So that was in…”

“2006,” Natasha replies. “Yes. I joined SHIELD in 2007.”

“So, one year later.” Sam is so surprised she’s actually talking to him, but he tries to keep it down. “Is there a connection between the two?”

“Not a direct one, I would say,” Natasha replies. “But I hadn’t been really happy there for quite a while.”

“So, how did you meet?” Sam asks.

Natasha snorts. “No, no, no, you’re not getting more than that. Where would that end?”

“I don’t know,” Sam replies. “A normal, human conversation?”

“Gross.” Natasha waves him off. “Come on, go get Steve to put on swim trunks, I know you want to.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ll let you read Lolita.”

“That’s not-” Natasha groans and closes her eyes. “Urgh.”

* * *

 

“So,” Bucky remarks, trying to sound casual. “Do you wear that because of me or…?”

“The swimsuit?” Natasha asks. “Why would I do that?”

“I know you have the scar,” Bucky says. “I’ve seen how bad it looks.”

“If I didn’t want you to see it, I would have kept my shirt on when we fucked,” Natasha replies.

“Or you were banking on me being too preoccupied to really think about it,” Bucky suggests. “Which I probably was.”

Natasha sighs and closes her book. “You really don’t need to sit around and stare at that scar and feel bad.”

“You have one on your shoulder, too,” Bucky adds. “Less noticeable. I guess I can be glad that you don’t have choke marks around your neck.”

“You didn’t squeeze  _ that  _ hard,” Natasha replies, exasperated. “In fact, you could have easily crushed my windpipe and you didn’t. You could have shot me in the head instead of through my stomach. The only time when you were really dead-set on killing me was probably when you shot me in the shoulder.”

“Yeah, I was pissed then,” Bucky replies. “But just making the distinction is… sick.”

“It mattered,” Natasha says. “To me, it mattered. The rest was just… professional, I guess.”

Bucky groans. “Wow. Great.”

“If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else,” Natasha argues. “They made you do it. It’s nothing personal.”

“For me at the time, maybe,” Bucky counters. “For you, it can’t have been. Not after… everything.”

Natasha sighs, looking at Steve who’s taking child-like pleasure in splashing Sam with water. “I compartmentalized. I took the professional part and put the rest in a box and… didn’t touch it. I almost… lost myself, looking for you, scouring the earth, chasing after cold leads. I gave myself a mission that kept me from thinking, at least most of the time. Clint pulled me back, as always. And I guess I… threw the box away, so-to-speak.”

“I didn’t sleep for two weeks,” Bucky says. “It wasn’t- the images, in my head, the blood, the sound, the scream you- it was affecting me more than anything else. I didn’t know why, at the time.”

Natasha studies him thoughtfully. “So that’s what you remembered first about me?”

“Odessa,” he agrees. “Yes. It was easy to find SHIELD files about it. I guess they triggered the memories. After all the memories of trying to kill you… I started having dreams about sleeping with you. Not sex, but… your calming voice, your fingers carding through my hair, the way your body felt pressed against me. I thought it was just wishful thinking, just a completely inappropriate coping mechanism, at the time. Actually, it was kind of a guilty pleasure.”

“So, multiple, recurring dreams,” Natasha states. “And you didn’t believe them?”

“I looked for stuff,” Bucky explains. “Anything, any sort of connection. But there was nothing. No paper trail.”

“No,” Natasha repeats. “No paper trail.”

Bucky sighs. “Then that Vienna bombing happened and… well, you know all of that. After Shuri defrosted me… she had a sort of therapy. Memory-inducing sleep. She had some fancy name for it that I don’t remember.”

“Did she see what you saw?” Natasha asks.

Bucky snorts. “No. Wouldn’t want anybody to have to see that. Especially not her.”

“For the best,” Natasha mutters.

“It wasn’t pretty,” Bucky assures her. “I threw up very often. Shuri thought it was a side effect, but I’m pretty sure it was just the images and the feeling and the memories. Sometimes, there was good stuff, though. You. Only you, actually.”

Natasha snorts. “Great. Responsibility.”

“I don’t mean it that way,” Bucky corrects, smirking. “The opposite, in fact. I’m not expecting anything from you. I’m glad you were there. I’m glad you put up with me. It meant a lot to me, still does, in my life, and I’m just thankful for that.”

Natasha smirks. “It’s not like I got nothing out of it.”

Bucky grins. “Oh, really?”

“Really,” Natasha repeats conspiratorially. “They treated me differently than you, of course, but… I was kind of in a similar spot. It was the only thing that felt real, like it meant something. It felt right. It was the only thing I chose just because I wanted to, just for the sake of it.”

“So, when you married Shostakov…” Bucky brings up.

“It’s not like they made me,” Natasha says. “But they encouraged it. Rushed it. And I was just young and impressionable and eager to please… and I had my first crush. That’s how we wound up in a place we never should have been in.”

“Just the tiniest bit of warmth is addictive,” Bucky states. “Even if it’s fake.”

Sam comes out of the water, snorting. “Jesus Christ, guys! The sun is shining. You’re sitting on the beach. Why are you sulking like that?”

“You don’t like it when I’m happy,” Bucky reminds him.

“Yes, because it usually means I’m suffering,” Sam returns. ”Or will suffer.”

Natasha gets up and puts her book, her hat and her sunglasses on the sun lounger. “Enough sulking around. I’m going for a swim.”

“Steve wanted to as well,” Sam says, waving in Steve’s direction. Steve is paddling around like an ecstatic Golden Retriever. “You could join him.”

“Will do, Natasha replies, stepping into the waves.

“Barnes,” Sam chides. “Stop staring.”

“Shhht.” Bucky’s eyes do not even twitch. “I think a little staring is okay.”

Sam snorts, settling on Natasha’s lounger. “Well, it’s your life, really. If you want to risk it like that.”

“Don’t be dramatic.” Now that Natasha is mostly in the water, Bucky looks over to where Sam is sitting. “Wait, do you actually want to talk?”

“Wanting is greatly exaggerated,” Sam clarifies. “But I guess maybe we should. You know, Steve.”

Bucky snorts, looking at Steve’s head which is moving towards Natasha’s. “Yeah, no. No need. You don’t need my approval.”

“I’d prefer not having your disapproval,” Sam specifies. “Otherwise, that’s going to be a disaster. We’re kind of special friends.”

“That’s putting it nicely,” Bucky remarks. “No, go for it. Honestly, I would have preferred Steve dating whatshername Carter- Sharon, but that apparently didn’t work out, so whatever. You’re a good friend to him, so I assume you wouldn’t monumentally drive it against the wall.”

“Okay. Thanks,” Sam says. “That’s enough for me.”

Bucky grins. “Also, I’m kind of going on Natasha’s judgment here and she likes you a lot more than I do, so there’s that.”

“Always go on Nat’s judgment,” Sam agrees. “I don’t even know when she started pushing for this. Cause it’s been a while.”

“Well, we dumbasses had to turn to ash, didn’t we,” Bucky remarks.

Sam snorts. “Right. That didn’t help.”

“Helped pretty much nothing and no one,” Bucky agrees. “Yeah.”

“So, Steve liking men,” Sam prompts. “Has that always been a thing?”

Bucky snorts. “Oh. Yeah. I was always afraid that was going to get him in big, big trouble. I mean, New York wasn’t that bad at the time, not like elsewhere in the country, but he was a skinny, sick kid with the temper of a bulldog.”

“I imagine,” Sam says. “Basically the same as now, only without the physique to back it up.”

“A lot more reckless,” Bucky adds. “I know, hard to imagine. Anyway, Steve had- do you know Jean Malin?”

Sam shakes his head. “Gay singer,” Bucky explains. “I think he did drag too. Anyway, Steve bought a poster of him and put it up in his room. And when I saw that… I got really scared, so I turned it into anger and ripped the poster apart in front of Stevie’s eyes, screaming at him to never ever talk about that guy again. I must have scared him really bad, because he actually never brought it up again.”

“Wow,” Sam remarks. “So you were always an asshole.”

Bucky snorts. “A bit, I guess. I just really didn’t want Steve to get hurt and I couldn’t always look after him.”

“I get that,” Sam replies. “Still, not the best way to deal with a queer child.”

“I wasn’t always the best friend I should have been to him,” Bucky admits. “I know. I just… I was a kid myself, and I always felt responsible for him. In hindsight, not great, no.”

“So he dropped it?” Sam asks. “Just like that?”

“Oh, no.” Bucky shakes his head. “He had a crush on a boy at our school. He always drew his face, everywhere, on every piece of paper he could find. I told him to stop, several times, but he was stubborn. One day, he waited for him after school- they never really spoke before, and Stevie had this letter that he wanted to give him, and- I found him first, and I grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him until he turned blue in the face and I thought he was going to suffocate. I just repeated over and over that he couldn’t do that, that it was way too dangerous, what if somebody caught him, other students or a teacher, that this was what got people killed- stuff like that. His ma got angry at me because I wouldn’t tell her what had happened and we both got grounded for weeks, but I guess Steve took it to heart because he watched out after that.”

“That’s tough,” Sam remarks. “Then he dropped it?”

“Pretty much,” Bucky confirms. “I guess he got comfortable in his closet. I always tried to hook him up with pretty dames, but he was never really interested, playing it off as  _ waiting for the right partner _ sort of bullshit. I think the first woman he really wanted was Peggy Carter, but you’d have to ask him.”

“Will do,” Sam replies. “And you? That was never a thing?”

“Oh, no.” Bucky shakes his head. “I was never into that. I once offered to teach Stevie how to kiss, but he turned that down resolutely.”

“And during the war?” Sam asks. “Must have felt a lot like all boundaries off. I can’t imagine nothing happened there.”

“Well, at that point, he was already Captain America,” Bucky reminds him. “So there were always eyes on him. Also, he was pretty focused on the war and when he wasn’t, Peggy, but he barely had time even for her. And he was never a casual guy, so there’s that.”

“Unlike you,” Sam remarks.

Bucky grins. “Yeah. Unlike me. A true romantic.”

“Thanks for telling me that anyway,” Sam adds. “Even though you don’t like me.”

“If you do monumentally screw up, though, I’m going to be pissed,” Bucky warns. “That’s Steve we’re talking about. Don’t hurt his feelings.”

Sam snorts. “That’s not fair. I bet no one gave you the shovel speech about Nat.”

Bucky grins. “Oh, don’t worry. She did that herself.”

* * *

 

“You can sit there,” Bucky acknowledges. “But don’t start talking. I’m not having one of those deep, earnest conversations again.”

Steve snorts and sits down. “Really. That bad?”

“First Nat,” Bucky starts. “Then Sam, can you imagine. I think I’m done for this week.”

“What did you talk about?” Steve asks.

“Stuff,” Bucky replies, ultra-precise.

Steve rolls his eyes and leans back. “Fine. You don’t want to swim?”

“No,” Bucky confirms. “Maybe sometime else. Probably when Natalia makes me. You seemed to enjoy yourself, though.”

“I  _ did _ .” Steve shakes his head. “I only now realized I never went on a beach vacation before. It’s great. I was missing out on so much.”

“Didn’t have that before the war,” Bucky says.

“Yeah, one of the many things that got better,” Steve agrees. “You look skeptical, though.”

“I’m kind of afraid my arm will start overheating in the sun,” Bucky admits. “Or the salt water will damage it. Shuri said she calculated all of that in, but… I don’t know.”

“You don’t want to lose it?” Steve asks.

Bucky chews on his lower lip. “It’s weird because I didn’t even really want it, before that fucking alien army showed up, but now that I’ve got it… Losing the arm is harder than not having it, I guess. God, we’re getting into the deep stuff again.”

“Your fault, really,” Steve states, grinning, and picks up the book lying on his lounger. “Is that Nat’s?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “It’s about a Russian writer who fled to Berlin with his family after the Bolshevik revolution. I don’t know, I only read the backside. It says this is kind of Nabokov’s farewell to Russia, so I assume that's why she’s reading it.”

“Makes sense,” Steve agrees, flipping through a few pages. “Why am I doing this? I can’t read a word of it.”

“Do you want me to read it to you?” Bucky suggests, grinning. “Though my Russian sounds way worse than Natalia’s, of course.”

“Can’t out-Russian a Russian,” Steve comments, putting the book down. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Well, what are the options,” Bucky asks back. “Fish, fish, fish or fish?”

“We could open a can,” Steve replies amusedly. “If you feel really uninspired.”

Bucky sighs. “Guess I do.”

* * *

 

“Soooo,” Steve starts. “You promised to talk to me.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “Oh, no. No! I said in the next few days. Not now. I’m not ready for that. No way.”

“Well, I don’t know what it is,” Steve acknowledges. “But I have the feeling you’re blowing this way out of proportion.”

“I’m not,” Sam mutters. “I’m really not.”

Steve sighs and gives up. “Fine. Then tomorrow.”

“That’s-” Sam bites his tongue. “Do we have to? I need to talk to Nat.”

“You need to talk to Nat?” Steve repeats incredulously. “Well, she asked Bucky to tell her about every single book he ever liked, so she’s busy right now. You can talk to her tomorrow. And right after that, you can talk to me.”

Sam sighs. “Urgh. Fine. Tomorrow. If you insist.”

“I do,” Steve confirms. “Now, do we need to fix a time and place?”

Sam snorts. “Oh, but I’m blowing this out of proportion? Also, place is literally  _ which part of the beach do we want to meet on _ .”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Whatever. But tomorrow, you won’t get out. Tomorrow, we’ll talk.”

Sam sighs. “Yeah. That doesn’t sound threatening at all.”

* * *

 

“Nat,” Sam whines. “I’m nervous.”

Natasha snorts from behind the room divider. “Too bad, get over it. And now let me sleep.”

“Sure,” Sam replies sarcastically. “Because it isn’t your doomsday tomorrow.”

“Doomsday?” Natasha repeats. “Really? Stop being a whiny bitch. What’s going to happen, at worst?”

Sam snorts. “Oh, let’s see. I might get into the most awkward situation of my life and I might lose my best friend, the man who has grown over the past four years to mean pretty much everything to me. Does that sound bad enough yet?”

“You’re not going to lose him,” Natasha counters. “Even if it doesn’t work out, what’s he going to do? We’re on a lonely island. It’s not like he can flee and never talk to you again.”

Sam sighs. “But what if-”

“I cancelled the ferry,” Natasha interrupts.

Sam sits up, dumbfounded. “You what now?”

“I cancelled the ferry tomorrow,” Natasha repeats. “Neither of you can flee. I’ll make you figure it out, even if I have to force you.”

“You’re incredible,” Sam states. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“You can start by talking to Steve,” Natasha suggests. “If you don’t, I’ll make you regret it.”

Sam groans. “But what am I going to say?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Natasha replies. “Just get your point across.”

Sam snorts. “So what, just screw him in the kitchen?”

“That’s totally different,” Natasha remarks sourly. “We screwed before.”

Sam sighs and flips over. “Come on. Just tell me what to say.”

Natasha snorts. “Yeah, I’m not letting you abdicate all responsibility. Now, if you really don’t want to get on my bad side, let me fucking sleep.”

* * *

 

“Bucky,” Steve whines. “I’m nervous.”

“What the hell,” Bucky groans. “So, what’s it this time?”

“I have no idea what he wants to talk about,” Steve repeats. “It seemed important, though. What is he going to say?”

“I don’t know what he’s going to say,” Bucky replies, which is the truth, in a way. “We’ll find out tomorrow.”

Steve sighs. “But what if it’s something bad?”

“Then we’ll find that out tomorrow,” Bucky repeats. “And we’ll deal with it tomorrow. Don’t make such a fuss, you can’t change anything either way.”

Steve flips around again. “But I’m nervous.”

“Yeah, you said that,” Bucky reminds him. “Over and over again. Just sleep already, it’s about damn time.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is disappointed in his friends. Steve only catches on when it hits him in the face. Natasha can handle the cold. Bucky gets tied up.

 

“Wow,” Sam states. “You’re actually nicer than Nat.”

“But I told you to leave me alone,” Bucky repeats.

“Yes.” Sam shakes his head. “But Nat told me to stop being a whiny bitch.”

“Yeah.” Bucky sighs. “She’s kind of a macho.”

“That,” Sam says. “I never thought of it that way, but yeah, it’s actually kind of true. In the  _ get over your petty emotions _ -way.”

“Yeah, anyway,” Bucky says. “Stop being a whiny bitch  _ and  _ leave me alone.”

Sam groans. “Wow. You’re a bunch of true friends.”

“No, no,” Bucky corrects. “Nat actually gave you some form of advice, in her own fashion. I’m just not your friend.”

“Where is she even?”, Sam asks.

“Running,” Bucky replies. “She should round the corner at any moment.”

“Oh, so that’s why you’re putting up with me,” Sam states. “Instead of fleeing.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Bucky returns. “That’s how you say it, right?”

Sam facepalms. “Wow. Before that sentence, for a second, you almost didn’t seem as old as a rock.”

Luckily, Natasha appears right at that moment, with rosy cheeks and a thin layer of sweat all over her body, and Bucky forgets everything he might have wanted to say. Natasha notices, of course, and smirks. “Well, hello, boys. Good morning.”

“Not a good morning,” Sam replies. “But thanks.”

“You look like you could use a shower,” Bucky suggests sheepishly. “Do you need help with that?”

Natasha grins and tilts her head. “Careful. I shower cold. Very cold.”

“So just like old times,” Bucky replies, grinning as well.

Natasha gets on the porch and downs a glass of water she must have prepared beforehand. “Well, Soldier. If you think you can handle the cold.”

“Aaaaand I’m gone,” Sam interrupts. “Really far gone.”

Natasha waves at him, then goes inside, leaving the door deliberately open. Bucky continues staring at her for a moment but catches himself when she pulls off her sports bra, revealing her back to them. The door falls shut behind him, and Sam hurries down the porch and  _ away _ .

He literally runs into Steve who’s just coming out of the kitchen. “Oh, Sam. Have you been looking for me, by any chance?”

“No,” Sam denies, a little too fast. “I’ve just been fleeing from the sex noises that might soon come from my hut.”

Steve groans. “Aw, dang. I left my razor over there.”

“Yeah, well, don’t go there,” Sam advises. “Any plans for today?”

“I wanted to go to the market again,” Steve replies. “But Ioanna says the ferry has been cancelled.”

“What,” Sam pretends to be surprised. “Why?”

“No idea,” Steve says. “Anyway, not that much of a problem, we’re still pretty stocked.”

There is a shrill, girlish scream coming from the second hut. “Well, that doesn’t sound like sex noises,” Sam remarks, and indeed, a few seconds after, Bucky comes running out the door, just in a towel, shivering all over.

Steve sighs and rubs his forehead. Sam grins and calls: “I thought you could handle the cold!”

“That’s not cold,” Bucky yells back. “That’s fluid  _ ice _ .”

“That’s not a thing,” Steve replies, exasperated. “And if it were, you couldn’t get that here.”

“Wanna go in there and find out, punk?” Bucky returns sourly.

“No,” Steve answers. “I really don’t want to go in there.”

“Steve?” Sam asks. “Wanna talk now?”

Steve’s face lights up for a moment, but it flares down quickly. “Yes! Okay. Let’s go. Somewhere.”

Bucky sighs and goes back into the house. Steve turns around and strolls over to two rocks on the beach, where he patiently waits for Sam to sit down. “So. You wanted to talk.”

Sam sighs, rubbing his face. “Wanting is a bit much, dude.”

“Let’s just get it over with, then,” Steve suggests, hands on his knees.

“Okay. Look, I don’t know where to-” Sam shakes his head. “Actually, you know what, let’s not talk.”

It’s some diabolic mechanism that makes him reach out to Steve and touch his hand, heart racing, squeezing Steve’s hand and caressing it with his thumb, and he just can’t stop anymore, floodgates open, and Steve stares at their hands as if it’s the most surprising thing ever-

“Oh gosh,” Steve whispers hoarsely. “ _ Sam _ .”

Steve is really fast, of course, and Sam finds himself pressed against Steve’s lips in a heartbeat, their beards rubbing against each other, and all Sam can do is moan and fist some of Steve’s hair and kiss him gently. He tastes like toothpaste. Sam wishes he had brushed his teeth as well. He’s still holding on to Steve’s hand on his knee, the other one reaching for his shoulder. He almost slips off the rock and has to plant both of his feet on the ground to save himself.

Steve doesn’t seem to notice any of that, though, continuing the passionate kiss. Sam hesitantly bites on his lower lip and Steve moans with the utmost sincerity, pulling with his hand at the back of Sam’s neck. Sam has to grab onto his arm and when that’s not enough anymore, push Steve back with a hand on his chest. “Steve! Man.”

Steve looks at him with big puppy eyes. “Look, I appreciate the enthusiasm,” Sam explains, patting Steve’s hand. “But don’t make me fall on the ground like a complete idiot.”

Steve blinks three times until the message gets through to him, looking from the rock Sam’s sitting on to his own rock to the distance between them. “Uh. Oh. Right. Let’s- let’s get up.”

Sam grins, pushing himself up. “Okay, man. Sure.”

Steve lays a hand on his shoulder, still kind of insecure, and Sam rolls his eyes, taking Steve’s face in both of his hands and pulling him in for another passionate kiss. Steve’s beard scratches him in a way that’s not at all unpleasant, if not downright erotic. Sam gasps, trying to keep the thought down. No need to jump to eleven right away.

Steve’s big hands touch his shoulders, his sides, his back, nudging him closer. He’s warm, like a huge heating pillow. Very muscled heating pillow. Oh no, don’t think about it. Being impatient again, aren’t we, Wilson? Just cherish what you have  _ now. _

He’s not sure Steve would ever have pulled back but Sam does, smiling like an idiot, his cheeks hot. That’s nothing against the blush on Steve’s face, though, and his swollen pink lips. Sinful. Steve blinks, hazy and a bit confused, then he smiles like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. “Steve?”

Steve looks at him earnestly but still with a big fat smile just beneath the surface. Sam shakes his head. “Forget about the razor.”

Steve grins, blushing even more, eyes pointed at the ground. “Come on. Let’s go back.”

Sam doesn’t really want to, but whatever. Wherever Steve is going seems like a good place. He takes the hand Steve offers and they walk back to the huts, where they stop and stare incredulously at Natasha’s bra dangling from the doorknob. “I- How?” Steve asks dumbfounded. “Did you tell her?”

“Definitely not,” Sam replies. “You neither?”

Steve shakes his head. “You think that’s an accident or- how would they even  _ know _ ?”

“With Nat, the question is rather how would she  _ not  _ know,” Sam reminds him.

“Yeah, but-” Steve shakes his head. “Okay, whatever. Let’s just get the hell away from here.”

Sam grins, squeezing his hand while they turn around. “I like it when you swear.”

* * *

 

“You know, the cold water has one advantage,” Bucky remarks. “No steam blocking your vision.”

Natasha snorts, rinsing her hair. “You’re just going to stand there and stare at my naked body?”

“And map out all the things I want to do to you,” Bucky adds. “Yes.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, turning off the water. “Hey. You bailed.”

“It’s  _ freezing _ ,” Bucky replies, handing her a towel. “I bet you have blue toes.”

Natasha examines her toes and grins. “Wow. You’ve gone so  _ soft _ .”

“I used to not really feel the cold, only a shadow,” Bucky says. “Now I do.”

Natasha grins and pulls at his towel so that it falls to the floor. “But you did feel certain other things?”

“Trust me, I did,” Bucky assures her, grinning. “But you can always remind me.”

“Then turn off the hologram,” Natasha orders, rubbing her blonde hair dry. “I don’t like it.”

Bucky sighs and touches the little button on the back of his shoulder, the button that makes all the fake layers go away, and his arm is again what it really is- hard, unforgiving metal. “Feels strange?”

Natasha nods. “I get it. Just- not when you’re with me.”

“If it matters to you,” Bucky agrees.

Natasha drops the towel, wordlessly steps up to him and kisses him. He groans, bumping against her stomach. She grins, taking his hands and placing them on her ass. He squirms a little but pulls her carefully against him. She snorts, pushes against his chest and grabs his hand to pull him over to her bed. “Come on.”

“Come on what?” he repeats, climbing over her, biting her neck and moving down.

But she drags him back up by his chin. “Nuh-uh. Hands only.”

He rolls his eyes. “Really, Nat? I wanna fuck, not get psychotherapy.”

“Too bad.” Natasha shifts, pushing up her chest, which does distract him from whatever deep frustration he might have. “Take it or leave it.”

She knows he’s not going to leave it, especially not now. She just knows. He groans, palming her breast with his right hand. “Kissing?”

“On the mouth,” Natasha specifies, arching against his hand. “Yes.”

Sometimes, she’s horrible. When she means well. He buries the frustration in her lips, flicking her nipple between his fingers until she gasps into his mouth. That makes him grin. He kind of wants that, now, to make her come undone just with his hands. When he can watch.

She must have caught that thought on his face, smiling briefly and arching her back towards him again. Her wet hair is dampening the pillow. He slips down her body, careful not to touch her except for with his hands and his hair sliding over her skin. He settles around her hip, resting partly on his right elbow, still with the hand on her breast, and touches the scar on her stomach with a metal digit. She holds her breath.

He strokes the lighter skin there, feeling to some degree the softness and smoothness of it. Maybe it’s his imagination. In the back of his mind, he still hears the bullet breaking through her stomach, the scream pushed from her lungs, but he still knows they’re here now, he can keep it at bay. He presses his lips to the scar, slowly, and when he looks up, she’s crying, softly, silently. Her eyes are on the ceiling. He slips lower still, letting go of her breast and sliding a human finger into her, pressing upwards. She makes a noise that resembles something of a hiccup and then turns into a moan. Her chest goes up again and her head falls back so that he can’t see her face anymore.

He carefully places his left hand on her arm to steady himself and pushes a second finger into her, crooking them until she moans again. She groans, clutching at the metal plates, pressing her eyes shut. He wiggles with his fingers and grins at the reaction of her body, the shudder that goes through her. “Sure you don’t want anything else?”

She opens her eyes to give him a dirty look. In the sense that he likes less. “Just touch me.”

“Where?” he asks, pushing his fingers in and out of her.

She groans, closing her eyes again. “God. Everywhere.”

He sits back to take the weight off his left arm and runs the metal digits up her shoulder, over her collarbone, hesitantly touching her face. It looks wrong there. Cold, hard metal pressed against her soft cheek. She turns her head and sucks on his thumb, but he immediately jerks back. “No. Don’t.”

It’s too much right now, the hand that he used to choke her, and the sexualized way she treats it, and she looks at him kind of worried and leans up to kiss him. That’s okay. The discomfort ebbs off. She looks from one of his eyes to the other, gauging his expression, his emotional state. “Too much too early?”

“Don’t do that,” he repeats, not quite knowing what to do with either of his hands. “Just- just let me.”

She lies back slowly, his fingers almost slipping out of her in the process. “Okay.”

She’s still watching him when he takes a deep breath and touches her collarbone again. He always skips her neck, instead going down between her breasts and below to her right. She mewls in surprise when he jerks his other fingers up, as if she had forgotten about those. He could probably get her off really quickly, if he tries. Would also distract him from the tension in his chest. He cups her breast and goes looking for the best spot inside of her.

She doesn’t scream, this time, just a high-pitched moan falling from her lips that he muffles with his own. He’d have to push her over the brink a couple more times before she really unwinds, but he’s in no hurry to do so. He can explore her body for hours on end. With just his hands.

He pulls his fingers out of her, wiping them somewhat clean on the sheet, and he can see the disappointment in the way she breathes out. Still, he runs his hands down her sides, her waist, her hips, her thighs, sliding his thumbs up the insides, always stopping way too early for her taste. He knows that gets her incredibly frustrated. It’s clear as day in the way she pushes her hips up. He grins and leans in to bite the inside of her left thigh and she jumps, even though she must have seen that coming from miles away. “Still hands?”

“They would be enough,” she replies sourly. “If you actually tried.”

He grins, holding his hands out for her to take them. “Show me.”

She scans his face for a moment before pushing his left one down to her clit, adding “better get it wet first.”

He slides the flat of his thumb over her vagina, careful not to let the wetness get in the cracks between the joints where it will take hours to remove. “I might hurt you.”

“You won’t,” she reassures him. “If you’re careful.”

That goes without saying. He decides the metal plate has gathered enough of her lubricating wetness and lays it on her clit, first circling around, and when that becomes too little for the building tension in her back, just up and down. He almost startles when she mewls, focusing on her face, but she seems fine, very fine indeed. If he doesn’t look at his hand, it doesn’t even feel wrong and dangerous. He leans forward and pulls on her nipple with his teeth.

Impatience sneaks back up on him. He wants more than this, but he’ll have to get this over with first. He increases pace and pressure of his thumb, sucking on her breast at the same time, but one second, she’s moaning and the next she suddenly clamps her thighs together, and he jerks back, cursing because this was the line, hurting her with his metal hand again, and he’s just too reckless and dumb and impatient for it-

“Really?” She rolls her eyes at him. “You do that all the time.”

“I hurt you all the time?” he repeats sourly, sitting back as far as he can.

“You misjudge the amount of pressure to apply all the time,” she corrects. “Because it’s really hard if you don’t feel it yourself. It only hurts for a second. Don’t make me keep my mouth shut just so you don’t stop altogether.”

He sighs, wishing he could just bury himself inside of her to the hilt and not have to deal with this mess. “Can I just eat you out instead?”

“I don’t want the first time we do that to be  _ instead _ ,” she says. “Fine. Lay down.”

He feels bad for not being able to do what she wants him to, with his fucking hands, so he lays down next to her, staring at the ceiling through the mosquito net. Her grinning face appears above him moments later. “Don’t worry. I still want to screw you.”

A part of him, a physically lower part, is actually relieved at that, but he snorts instead. “Still good enough for that?”

She grabs his hair, pulling, and kisses him. “Shut up. You’re good enough for everything.”

“Except fingering you,” he replies, pushing her shoulders down, not sure what he’s hoping for.

She gives him a dirty look, the one that makes a shudder go down his spine. “Want something? Say it. Ask for it.”

He’s afraid to, terribly afraid to, so he grabs her damp hair and pulls her up again. She only grins. “Oh, come on. Don’t be rough because you’re scared. Be rough because you want to.”

He doesn’t want to. He lets go off her hair, pulling her into a kiss, pushing his tongue into her mouth. He shudders because of the way she sucks on it. She pushes herself up, waiting with an amused look on her face, playing with his hair, his beard. He physically resists slamming his hips up against her until she licks and bites her plump lower lip. He groans and gives up, pushing her head down forcefully. “Suck it.”

She does look satisfied by that and starts giving him little kitten licks. The discomfort from before does not stop him from hardening under her tongue within seconds. She holds him with one hand and swirls her tongue around the top, thankfully not looking at him because he’d probably lose it. Whatever he does, it’s embarrassing, if not worse.

She wraps her lips around him and takes him halfway in before releasing with a wet sound and switching over to her hand. “You just wanted me to stop talking, didn’t you? Keep my mouth busy?”

He groans, snapping his hips against her hand. “That’s not true. I really like your mouth around my dick.”

“I wonder whether I push you too much,” she remarks thoughtfully, twisting her wrist.

He doesn’t have an automatic reply to that and he can’t really think about it either, except for the deep vulnerability he feels. She crawls upwards, not letting up with her hand, studying his face. “If you want to, I could tie you up and just have my way with you. You wouldn’t have to think or worry about anything.”

It’s amazing how she knows better than himself what he wants. He twitches in her hand, no way of hiding it. “Yes. Do it.”

She lets go of him, sliding off the bed and he really shouldn’t be surprised that she has zip ties hidden somewhere. She comes back and fastens his wrists to the bedposts, the left one as tight as possible, the right one with enough wiggle room so it doesn’t cut off blood circulation. He arches his neck up to kiss her. “Blindfold too.”

She grins, picking up a shirt from the floor. “Wow. You’ve gotten kinky.”

“I’m sure I’d have loved to do that before,” he says, keeping his head up so she can wrap the shirt around. “But we had to always be ready to run.”

They both know it would take him a mere second to break the zip ties and slip off the blindfold, but a second can be deadly in some cases. Getting hit by a bullet takes just a second. At least they’ve dropped the flight instinct now. She pushes his hair around and ties the shirt behind his head. She could do way better than that simple knot, even with a shirt, but she probably wants to give him an easy out. He lays his head down and waits.

There’s a smile in her voice when she settles on his stomach. “Shouldn’t have gotten naked yet. Rub my body against yours in various states of undress.”

He shudders at the thought of lacy underwear rubbing over his skin. She doesn’t even have lacy underwear, as far as he knows. She always hated it. Maybe he can convince her sometime. “Do it naked then.”

The tips of her breasts slide over his chest. “Need a safe word?”

“I’ll tell you to stop,” he replies simply. She settles on his right thigh and he pushes it up against her immediately, feeling the wetness smear his thigh. His dick rubs against her right hip when she starts humping him, without him having to do anything. He listens to her sighs.

He doesn’t actually feel controlled or dominated in any way. He could do something if he wanted to, snap up his hips, tense the muscles in his thigh, lift his head to kiss her. The zip ties don’t keep him from doing that, they just keep him from thinking he has to. He can lay back and just feel her.

He pushes his thigh up again and makes her moan in surprise. Her hands end up on his chest to steady herself. “Should I scratch you there, too?”

“If you want to,” he says. “Yes.”

She rolls her hips, sighing and digging her fingers, though not her nails, into his skin. He shifts his shoulders a bit. Her nails start dragging over his chest in what must be red lines. She’s gasping. She’s soaking wet, already, but that’s up to her, really. She leans forward, her breasts pressing against his chest, and kisses him. He arches his neck.

“Ready?” she asks, breathless.

“Ready when you are,” he replies, pushing his thigh against her again, making her mewl.

She’s off him, suddenly, and next thing he feels her wet, rough tongue against his dick, involuntary jerking up. When he has his hips back under control, her mouth takes him in. He groans, resisting the urge to touch her head. Can’t anyway. She sucks and he feels like he’s melting. She lifts her head. “Talk to me.”

He groans again. “Wanna touch you.”

“How?” She starts licking again.

“Hold your head,” he says, trying to get his sentences straight while her tongue swirls around him. “Fuck your mouth. I- I wouldn’t actually do that because you wouldn’t like it.”

“I wouldn’t,” she agrees. “But I like you saying it.”

He groans again, arching his back to relieve some of the urge to move. He gasps when she pinches his nipple and hums around his dick. Releasing him, she moves up until her knees touch his arms. He grins, arching his neck toward her smell. “Come here.”

She directs his head to suck on her clitoris, which he does with pleasure. Her smell gets stronger. The headboard creaks behind him, probably under her hands. She moans and he sucks a little harder, running the tip of his tongue around and over. It doesn’t take long at all until she groans deeply and topples over, her knees pressing against his arms, her pelvis against his nose.

He tries to give her another lick but misses, and then she’s moving down his body already, and he sighs, but changes his opinion when she lowers herself onto his dick. She’s wet but tight, and he holds still and listens to her accelerated breathing until she starts rolling her hips herself. He almost rips the zip ties before he even remembers they’re there. He groans, snapping his hips up if he can’t hold hers. She falls forward, fingers gripping his shoulders, and kisses him open-mouthed. He groans, snaps the zip ties and grabs onto her shoulders, kissing her harder. She makes a soft, needy sound, rocking her hips faster. Her clit is rubbing against him. He buries his right hand in her hair, holding her close and fucking up into her. She squirms, hiding her face in his neck, her back is getting more and more tense. His left arm locks her hips in, not letting her move an inch, and she doesn’t even try rocking her hips anymore, just taking his increasingly hard thrusts and whimpering and moaning through it. She’s his, right now, and she feels great above him and around him.

Her breasts are pressing against him harder and she’s starting to constrict. He’s paying minute attention to the tension in her back, her clawing hands on his shoulders, her desperate noises, waiting for the exact moment when he can stop and let her convulsions wash over him. He hisses when her teeth sink into his neck and she moans against his skin, muffling herself when he slams into her harder and she finally clenches around him, back pressing her against him, nails digging in his shoulder. He gives her one more thrust and then just holds her through it, relishing her walls pulsing around him.

When she’s caught her breath, she sits up, pushing the shirt off his eyes. He’s blinking at the light, hazy for a moment, while she places a hand square on his chest and starts riding him. The first thing he sees are her bobbing breasts, and for a second he wonders why there’s no red veil around her head, but that thought is pushed away by the next roll of her hips. He grips onto the sheets, groaning.

She tries a couple of different angles until she finds the best one, letting her head drop back and moaning towards the ceiling. God, she looks amazing. She’s pushing his dick against a certain spot inside of her with small, controlled motions, over and over again. This is for her. She’s using him and he enjoys every second of it, the sight, the noises, the feel.

He fists the sheets to distract himself, staring at her dangling breasts. Her moans get more frequent and louder and the weight of her hand on his chest increases. She reangles herself ever so slightly, ramping up the pace and giving up a huge chunk of the control. He just lets her, twitching inside of her.

He recognizes the sound she makes just before she stops, chest pushed upward, head so far in her neck he can’t see much more than her chin and the tip of her nose, he feels her clenching around him, and he expects her to suddenly fall forward, but that doesn’t happen. She pulls her head up and looks down at him, grinning. Somewhere between genuinely happy and downright dirty. Soft sheen of sweat on her forehead, her cheekbones. God, she’s amazing.

He slaps her ass with his right, making her fall on top of him, and grabs her chin to kiss her and lick around inside her mouth. She’s still grinning, holding herself up with both arms, and she slaps his thigh and sits back when he tries to rock up into her. “Come here.”

He sits up and lets her push his head towards her breast, his hands behind him to steady himself, her hands in his hair and wrapped around his back. He groans. He doesn’t mind sucking on and biting her breasts, as much as he has to bow down to do it, but this position gives her total control over the movement of her hips again. Her slow, elaborate rocking is not exactly what he had in mind. He groans, switching to her other breast. “Nat. I can’t.”

“It’s okay, you can come,” she says, wrapping her arms around his neck so that every move rubs her clit against him. “Or you can hold out a little longer. If you can.”

He’ll be damned if he can’t make her scream. He sighs, kissing her face despite the bobbing of her head. She starts making happy noises again, probably a bit exaggerated for his benefit. Not exactly helping. He imagines her nails dragging over his back but her arms are busy holding both of them together, keeping the angle at which he impales her so deeply. Getting pushed into her vagina again and again feels better than it has any right to.

“Just come already, will you,” he mutters hoarsely and she must have heard him perfectly, a shudder going through her. Her arms loosen the way they do pre-orgasm, and he holds perfectly still while she pushes his dick against her walls again and again, moaning more deeply every time. He even wraps his arms around her, keeping her impaled just the right way, not letting her squirm or struggle out of it until she convulses around him.

He doesn’t wait until she’s through it, flipping her on her back and pushing her knees towards her shoulders and entering her still pulsing pussy in one thrust. She squeals. He starts pounding into her. He really can’t wait anymore, he really can’t. She drags his head down to kiss her, which does slow him down, but it’s worth it for feeling moan after moan pushed from her lungs over her lips into his mouth. Her nails dig into his back, the slight pain making him groan. Her eyes and mouth are wide open, staring up at him, and he looks into her eyes while he rams into her over and over again.

“Yesyesyes,” she whimpers, arching against her own thighs, eyes pressed closed. “Please. Harder.”

He doesn’t think he can physically do it harder, but he grabs her ass with his left, fingers digging in, lifting her a bit so he can fuck her even deeper. She screams. Her nails break through his skin. He fucks her through it, not even thinking about stopping, dropping her hips again in favor of better steadying himself with the left arm. She stares up at him, eyes caught in the orgasmic haze, moaning at everything he does. He’s hot all over, except for where her nails work on his back. He can’t. He really can’t. He groans, pressing his eyes shut and hammering into her until it all unravels, it all comes out and he collapses on top of her.

He must have blacked out for a second, only coming back to himself when she squirms beneath him and he lifts his arms so she can lower her legs. “How’s your hip?”

“Okay,” she replies, pushing his hair out of his sweaty face. “You can stay.”

He lowers his head on her shoulder again, still making sure to put some weight on the metal arm, and tries to breathe. It’s not easy. His heart is hammering away in his chest. Hers a bit less so. He has to really focus to even hear and feel anything other than the blood rushing through him. They’re both sweaty and sticky, especially where they’re pressed against each other.

“James?” she mumbles above his head.

She’s still struggling with his name, avoiding it or switching between them. This one, he secretly likes best. He lifts his head as well as he can, looking up at her face. Her pupils are still blown wide. She’s wetting and biting her lips. He realizes he left her there, halfway to her next orgasm, and she hates that, having to cool down without climaxing. He grins and she sighs with relief, pushing the top of his head down. He slips out of her, making her mewl with disappointment, settles comfortably between her legs, pushes her legs over his shoulders again and goes to town.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is feeling great. Natasha dwells in pessimism. Bucky doesn’t do much. Steve brings up some old stuff.

 

“What do you mean, you’re not well,” Sam repeats, dumbfounded. “How can you not be well? It’s a wonderful day.”

“Well, then savor it,” Natasha replies through her sunglasses. “You boys can figure out the food yourself. I’ll just stay here.”

“I’ll keep her company,” Bucky announces. “Just go back to being all lovey-dovey with Steve again.”

Sam is in such a good mood that he actually lets it slide, turning around and jogging back to where Steve is trying to start a fire. “Not well?” Bucky repeats. “I’m surprised you can still sit.”

“I always thought that was more about spanking,” Natasha replies, pushing her sunglasses up her nose. “Though there are certain movements that feel uncomfortable, yes.”

Bucky grins. “Well, as long as you don’t have any regrets, doll.”

“Stop calling me  _ doll _ ,” Natasha returns impatiently. “And don’t fish for compliments.”

“I’m not,” he assures her, pouring himself a glass of water. “Did you put the zip ties away?”

“Don’t worry,” Nat replies, grinning. “They’ll never find out I tied you down and used you for my own pleasure.”

He smirks. “Oh, that’s what it was.”

The grill starts making cracking noises, so something must be going right. “Did it feel like anything else?” Natasha asks.

Steve comes over to pick up the fish and the foiled vegetables. He stops when he sees Nat’s smug, knowing smirk. “Actually, I really just have one question. How the  _ hell  _ did you cancel the ferry?”

“Wait,” Bucky interrupts, grinning. “You  _ cancelled  _ the ferry?”

“Had to get these idiots to talk somehow,” Natasha replies with a shrug.

Bucky’s grin widens. “You’re amazing. Brilliant.”

Steve rolls his eyes because she in no way answered his question. “Well, I would never have found out that was you if we hadn’t had to walk around the entire island  _ three times. _ Were you actually screwing the whole time?”

“Well, I took a shower,” Natasha tells him. “And then… pretty much, yes.”

“I don’t want to know  _ anything  _ about it.” To illustrate his point, Steve grabs the plates and is off to the grill.

“He actually said  _ screwing _ ,” Bucky remarks. “We should ask Ioanna to change the sheets.”

“Is there anything on it?” Nat asks. “Did you check?”

“No, but just the thought,” Bucky replies. “Steve’s bed, you know.”

“Well, I’m sleeping there now,” Natasha reminds him. “I’m not coming back to you just now, no matter how long you eat me out.”

Bucky grins. “I only ever eat you out for the sake of eating you out, so don’t worry.”

Steve has finished putting everything on the grill and pecks Sam on the lips. “Kind of amazing, isn’t it,” Bucky remarks. “It’s been four years. They were together pretty much the whole time. And we still had to push them so hard to get them there.”

Natasha snorts. “Yeah, at that rate, most couples would never have gotten together. Then again, they know each other really well now.”

“We also know each other very well,” Bucky returns. “In way less time.”

“Most of that’s about sex,” Natasha replies dryly. “Or about work. There should be more about… I don’t know, something’s missing.”

“What should we do about it?” Bucky asks.

“I don’t know,” Natasha says sourly. “If I knew, I’d already have done it. Like… I made you talk for hours about books and places you’ve been and you’d like to be, because I thought that’s how normal people get to know each other, but… I don’t know, that wasn’t it.”

“You need to stop looking for the normal people-route,” Bucky advises. “That just won’t work.”

Natasha sighs, pulling her knees against her chest. “No, it won’t. I want to… I want to know how you feel about stuff. Everything. I want to know what you want. How you think you can get there. What feels right to you, and what you want to feel right. I want to know what you’re afraid of.”

Bucky swallows. “That’s… not that easy.”

“It isn’t,” Natasha agrees, grimly staring at the horizon. “And screwing you won’t get me there.”

He grins. “Well, it doesn’t set you back either.”

Natasha snorts. “Why is everything so easy for you?”

“I stopped trying to get it perfectly right,” Bucky admits, taking another sip of water. “Probably learned that in Wakanda. I’ll fuck it up anyway. If I’m ever going to make things right, if at all, I’m going to get there slowly, painfully, with a lot of screw-ups along the way.”

“Wow,” Natasha remarks. “I wish I would have tried it that way.”

“But you did,” Bucky counters. “You tried SHIELD, and the Avengers, and when that all fell apart or turned out to be Hydra, you went for the vigilante route with only people you trusted, like Steve and Sam. You took every opportunity. You used your time travel to win the lottery just to donate it all to charity.”

Natasha sighs. “Well, just so you know, it will never feel like enough.”

“I know,” Bucky replies. “I know. And just so you know, that’s incredibly attractive about you.”

Natasha laughs. “Really? That’s what you find hot about me? My struggle for redemption?”

“Among others.” Bucky grins. “And I said attractive, not hot. I guess I just- I’m drawn to that because I identify with that.”

Natasha snorts. “How come you never dated Steve and his strong moral compass?”

“Ew.” Bucky contorts his face. “Not into him. And I do like him, he’s my best friend after all. Doesn’t mean I want to screw him.”

“Well, I appreciate the difference,” Natasha replies, pointing towards the grill. “You should go, they look like they could use a heat-resistant hand.”

Bucky sighs and gets up really slowly, trotting over to Steve and Sam who are trying to get something out of the coals. Natasha smiles, watching them. Her boys.

* * *

 

“And there,” Bucky offers. “Really a shame Carter-lady didn’t also teach you how to operate a grill.”

“I know how to,” Steve protests. “I just got distracted.”

Sam grins and wraps his arms around Steve’s waist, kissing his neck. Bucky doesn’t know whether to be happy or horrified. “Really? That’s all it takes?” Sam asks.

Steve mumbles something and blushes. Bucky decides on horrified. Steve wiggles out of Sam’s embrace, though reluctantly. “We need- we need to prepare the salad.”

“Sure thing, babe,” Sam replies, not without pecking Steve’s cheek. “I’ll be over there on the porch.”

Bucky pretends to puke and makes sure to disappear quickly into the kitchen. Sam lets go off Steve’s hands, dramatically waves him goodbye and walks the ten yards or so to the porch.

“So,” Natasha remarks when he sits down. “Your doomsday.”

Sam groans. “Please don’t repeat any of the dumb shit I said yesterday.”

* * *

 

“Look, I’m happy for you and all,” Bucky starts. “But you look like you’re on drugs. For fuck’s sake, you’re washing  _ salad _ .”

“I don’t want to keep it down,” Steve counters adamantly, without any sort of concern.

Bucky sighs, crossing his arms. “I mean, that’s fine. Sure. Just- God, I’m doing it again, am I not?”

“Doing what?” Steve asks amusedly.

“Telling you what to do,” Bucky says. “What not to do, especially. Just seems like I can’t let that one go.”

“Is it about Sam?” Steve asks, turning the water off.

“About the whole thing,” Bucky explains. “Remember that poster that I ripped up and the letter you wanted to give to whatever his name was? I can’t stop thinking about what a jerk I was. I can’t imagine how that must have made you feel.”

“Yeah, not great,” Steve replies vaguely without looking up from the tomatoes he’s cutting. “Not great.”

“I just got really scared,” Bucky defends. “You were getting in so many dumb fights that you couldn’t handle even without some assholes beating you to a pulp for liking the wrong people. Took me some years to figure out it was better to just help you afterwards. Well, doesn’t help you, does it.”

“No, I get that,” Steve says. “In hindsight. At the time, I just felt… rejected, and shamed. Probably kept me out of trouble in the short term, though.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, well, maybe it wasn't worth it. If it made you feel that way.”

Steve shrugs. “Look, in the end, we’ll never know. And whatever harm that may have done, I’m here now, and I’m fine now, so… you can let it go. Really.”

“Thank you,” Bucky says. “Now, does it also hurt your feelings if I say that I find you and Sam making out disgusting?”

Steve grins. “Look, I find the thought of you and Nat being intimate disgusting as well.”

“Oh,” Bucky replies innocently. “I don’t.”

Steve snorts, putting the tomatoes into the salad bowl. “I’m actually surprised you’re so on board with it. Not guys generally, I mean Sam specifically. It’s not like you’re best friends.”

“Let me tell you a secret,” Bucky offers. “Sometimes, I pretend to dislike him a tiny little bit more than I actually do.”

“Wow.” Steve rolls his eyes. “That’s it?”

“Oh, and Nat of course thinks he’s good for you,” Bucky adds.

Steve grins. “What, you’ve stopped thinking independently?”

Bucky snorts. “No, I’ve not. But she can judge that way better than I can.”

“Pretty sure she can do pretty much anything better than you can,” Steve adds.

“Well,” Bucky agrees. “Obviously.”

“What’s even the point of you,” Steve asks playfully. “You’re not even helping me with the salad. You’re not even watching the grill.”

“I am, the door’s open,” Bucky replies, craning his neck. “I’d notice if it exploded.”

* * *

 

“So, here’s the salad,” Steve announces, putting it on the table. “You think we can trust those two with the grill?”

“If they don’t bicker too much,” Natasha replies, pushing stuff out of the way. “I’ll keep an eye on it.”

“Good.” Steve sits down across from her. “Sam said you’re not well?”

“We both know I’m not getting sick,” Natasha says. “Just sore.”

“What the hell do you guys do,” Steve asks, horrified. “I don’t actually want to know. But that’s just not normal.”

“Well, look at it that way,” Natasha suggests, playing with a fork. “We used to never have enough time. Never as much as we might have wanted. And now, we have all the time in the world. So… it’s intense.”

Steve snorts. “So, you’re still catching up.”

“I don’t like  _ catching up _ ,” Natasha disagrees. “That sounds like we have to, and we don’t.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Sure. That’s why you always say you shouldn’t sleep with him and then, with the nice regularity of every few days, end up doing it anyway.”

“There’s a difference between  _ I shouldn’t  _ and  _ I don’t want to _ ,” Natasha replies sourly. “And I’m only with the former and not the latter.”

“You don’t have to justify yourself,” Steve remarks. “I’m just pointing out the inconsistency.”

“And that’s not the same thing,” Natasha deadpans. “Gosh. I just- I don’t see why I shouldn’t. There’s no good reason for that. It would be weird not to.”

Steve grins. “Just say you want to.”

“Of course I want to,” Natasha repeats. “So, why can’t I have it?”

“I don’t know,” Steve admits. “It just feels like you’re cherry picking the easy parts and avoiding the difficult ones. And that’s not going to work forever.”

“Speaking of difficult parts,” Natasha deflects. “It only took me, like, four years to finally set you up.”

“Come on,” Steve protests. “You haven’t been trying the whole time.”

“I wanted to let you figure that out on your own,” Natasha agrees. “But you’re hopeless. I’ve been nagging Sam for, well, about a year, I guess. Maybe two.”

“That long? Really?” Steve asks incredulously.

Natasha snorts. “As I said, you’re hopeless. Anyway, you’ve made it now, and it only had to hit you in the face like a brick.”

“I just never would have imagined…” Steve starts beaming again. “Gosh. I’m just so happy right now.”

Natasha smirks. “Well, I’m not changing beds with you.”

“I didn’t even ask!” Steve complains. “Is it totally incomprehensible to you that not everyone wants to push everything to eleven right away?”

“I give you two months,” Natasha announces. “If you don’t get that sorted out by then, I’ll intervene.”

Steve groans, hiding his face in his hands. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Funny, that’s what James said, though in a  _ different _ context,” Natasha returns, smirking. “Okay, I’ll stop.”

“That’s what you call him? James?” Steve snorts. “You sound like his ma.”

“I don’t know, haven’t decided yet,” Natasha replies. “Feels weird calling him anything, though.”

“He never really had a name for you, did he?” Steve asks.

“No.” Natasha frowns. “Wasn’t really necessary, though. When talking about him, I had to go with Winter Soldier anyway, so… I called him моя радость once or twice, when we were alone. He liked it. Something like… my joy, I guess.”

“What,” Steve repeats incredulously. “That’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever told me. Really,  _ my joy _ ?”

Natasha snorts. “Yeah, I’d never say that in English.”

“Yeah, you’d never,” Steve agrees.

“Well, you seem to have trouble going back, too,” Natasha remarks. “You know, you never say it back.”

“Say what back,” Steve asks. “I love you?”

“No, to Bucky,” Natasha explains. “You used to do the whole punk-jerk-thing, and now when he tries it, you never say it back.”

“How do you even know about that?” Steve questions. “Did Bucky tell you?”

Natasha snorts. “You told me, you dumbass. When you were moping about your lost bff.”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve returns sarcastically. “Was that before or after you found out that was the same guy you had a torrid love affair with?”

“Both,” Natasha replies coolly. “And really, torrid love affair? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Well, you could have told me anyway,” Steve remarks sourly. “That’s what friends do, you know.”

“And what good would that have done?” Natasha asks. “You didn’t need to know. Not yet.”

“I don’t know,” Steve replies passive-aggressively. “I would have found it consoling. Hope-inspiring, even.”

“See, that’s the point,” Natasha says. “I didn’t have hope. He didn’t remember the first thing about me. He tried to kill me. And that was only a few years after, not 70. I really didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”

“Well, I was right to,” Steve reminds her. “And you could have told me after we got him back. But no, I had to find out by walking in on you in the kitchen.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Natasha interrupts. “Why you never say it back.”

Steve sighs, gives up and leans back. “It just feels weird, out of place. Did he notice?”

“Probably,” Natasha confirms. “Hasn’t said anything, though.”

“It feels like  _ he _ ’s trying to go back,” Steve says. “To a way of things that’s just not the same anymore. I don’t know, I might be reading too much into it.”

“I don’t think you do,” Natasha replies. “Grabbing the little things so that at least they stay the same.”

“It’s just too much new stuff,” Steve mutters. “I think that might be why he keeps so close to you. Not that he wouldn’t otherwise-”

“No, I get it,” Natasha interrupts. “Being around me is easy for him. Easier than for me.”

“Well, Wakanda must have helped him a lot,” Steve explains. “I don’t know which part. All of it, probably. But in the beginning, he wouldn’t come near you, if you remember.”

Natasha smirks. “Oh, that was just because it was awkward. Lots of awkward moments around that, actually. Like the  _ did you really just jump on our car like a fucking drama queen  _ moment.”

Steve snorts. “Right. That must have been really weird for you.”

“Well, after he shot Fury, I at least was aware he was around,” Natasha admits. “Not that I was prepared for him to actually show up.”

“I thought about that, actually,” Steve adds. “Before that car behind us rammed into us. You were about to take a kill shot.”

“Like I said,” Natasha repeats. “I had smothered that hope with a pillow quite some time before.”

“After he shot you the first time?” Steve asks.

“Why are we so  _ dark _ ,” Natasha complains, grabbing the water bottle. “Should be your happy day. You know, before it all goes to shit.”

“I can’t imagine that at all,” Steve deflects.

“Oh,” Natasha snorts. “I can always imagine everything going to shit.”

“And you ask why we’re so dark,” Steve deadpans.

Natasha grins and pushes her chair back. “Come on. I’ll get our ray of sunshine Sam over here.”

* * *

 

“So,” Sam beams. “How are you, babe?”

“I’m great,” Steve replies, kissing him. “Thanks for asking.”

“Well, Dark and Gloomy are gone now,” Sam remarks, running his fingers through Steve’s hair. “So there’s that.”

Steve snorts. “They couldn’t have made it more obvious if they had winked at us while saying they were going for a walk.”

“Dirty,” Sam decides, touching Steve’s cheek. “They are  _ so  _ dirty.”

Steve blushes, putting his hand above Sam’s, and mumbles something. “Babe,” Sam adds in a soothing tone. “We don’t have to do anything.”

Steve snorts. “Nat said she gives us two months. Then she’ll do something, whatever.”

“Honestly,” Sam says. “Fuck her.”

“That’s what Bucky is doing,” Steve replies smiling.

Sam stares at him in surprise. “Steve! Did you really just say that?”

Steve presses his cheek against Sam’s hand, looking away and blushing. “Babe,” Sam remarks. “I have some hope for you after all.”

“Hope for what?” Steve mumbles half against his hand.

“That you can stop being Captain America and watching your every word and action,” Sam explains. “And just, chill. Be Steve. Say some wrong stuff. Make some mistakes.”

“Didn’t I already do that?” Steve questions. “When I went against the government and lost the shield and spent years on the run growing this look.”

Sam grins, stroking his beard. “Yeah, no. That look was definitely not a mistake.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clash. Steve almost dies. Sam receives some threats too.

 “You could really be more grateful,” Natasha remarks. “I could have made that way more painful for you.”

Sam snorts. “I’m not thanking you because you didn’t do your worst when forcing me.”

“But it’s necessary sometimes,” Natasha counters, pulling on a second shirt. “Like in this instance. That could have taken _years_ until you figure that out. Even more years than it already did, I mean.”

Sam sighs, pulling the sheets up. “Still. Not thanking you.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “So. You’re going to sleep tonight or stare at the ceiling and think of flowers and sunshine and rainbows?”

“That’s not-” Sam protests. “What the fuck? Flowers and sunshine and rainbows? Why? That makes zero sense.”

“You know,” Natasha shrugs. “The happy, lovey-dovey stuff.”

“That’s not like that at all,” Sam returns. “Do _you_ think of flowers and sunshine and rainbows?”

“Of course not,” Natasha replies, disappearing behind the room divider.

“Then why do you think being in love makes everything turn into My Little Pony,” Sam questions. “Is it because you think everyone else is a total wimp? Gosh, you’re kind of a psychopath.”

“I’m not a psychopath,” Natasha says coolly, rustling with the sheets.

Sam snorts. “Yeah, well. Or you just don’t know what it’s like to be in love, at all.”

“Don’t be silly,” Natasha replies, voice perfectly guarded. “Of course I do.”

“Then tell me,” Sam challenges. “What it’s like.”

He can’t see her and she’s perfectly silent for a few moments. She couldn’t be more silent if she turned to dust. “It hurts,” she says finally. “And you can’t escape it.”

“I- what’s _wrong_ with you,” Sam asks incredulously. “Actually, I know what’s wrong with you. So, really, the whole shtick with Barnes, that’s hurting you?”

“On some level,” Natasha replies carefully. “In some ways. Yes.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t do it,” Sam suggests. “Or do it differently.”

Natasha laughs humorlessly. “You forgot the second part. No escape.”

“Man, you need a therapist,” Sam sighs. “You know that’s not normal? Hurting?”

“It’s normal for me,” Natasha replies. “Anyway, go to sleep, we’ve already talked too much.”

Sam snorts. “You’re really just gonna leave it there? Everything sucks?”

“I didn’t say that,” Natasha returns. “I said everything hurts. And loving is really just getting used to it.”

Sam groans, flipping onto his stomach. “I’m beginning to think you read too many Tolstoy novels.”

 

* * *

 

That night, she slips back into his bed.

 

* * *

 

Steve wakes up before sunrise with a warm feeling in his chest. Can’t remember why right now, but it feels good. Warm. He smiles, flipping on his side and cozying up with the sheets. The sheets are soft. The pillow is just right. Everything is great.

There is an unusual smell in the room, just a faint whiff. He sniffs again. No, he’s probably fooling himself. Could be anything. Or nothing.

His smile flares up again when he remembers Sam is just one house over, just next door. Maybe sleeping. Maybe also awake, thinking happy thoughts. Yeah, Steve hopes Sam is happy right now, in this very moment.

He has to get up, though, and go to the bathroom. Maybe getting out from under the sheets will be refreshing. There’s good everywhere. His feet touch the wooden floor softly. The moon’s shining in through the windows. He pushes himself up from the bed and walks quietly through the darkness.

He wonders what time it is. Three in the morning? Four? Sunrise is five or six o’clock, here. His phone is… well, somewhere. Doesn’t matter. He’ll just go back to sleep, with the unwavering confidence that everything will be great in the morning.

When leaving the bathroom, he catches the scent again. It must be real. His eyes are more used to the darkness now. There’s Bucky, lying on his side, back to the wall, as always. And then there’s a smaller figure right in front of him, under his left arm, with bright hair, which of course is Natasha. Which explains the scent. They’re both sleeping and they look so cute you could almost forget they both killed hundreds of people. Steve holds his breath and looks around for his phone, picking it up as quietly as possible. Just a quick shot. The screen is way too bright. He unlocks it, trying to breathe quietly, and is about to open the camera when Natasha suddenly opens her eyes, staring at him with the scariest look he’s ever seen on her. He almost drops the phone in shock. She follows him with her eyes until he puts the phone away onto the floor, then closes them again and snuggles back against Bucky who unconsciously wraps his arm closer around her, and they’re asleep again.

Steve goes back to bed with a smile on his face.

 

* * *

 

Of course, she’s gone in the morning and Bucky is sleeping alone, now on his back. Steve rubs his eyes and slips out of bed, wondering whether Sam would be up for a run. Probably too early. But maybe… Or maybe not. Should he go over? What’s with Natasha? Did she go back to bed or…?

Overthinking, that early in the morning. He grabs his shoes and heads out onto the beach, passing by and peeking into the other hut. Natasha seems to be in her bed, because she is nowhere else. He can see Sam is in his bed, mouth open, hand on his chest, probably snoring. So cute. His heart feels warmer by the second.

Right. Running. That’s what he came out to do.

When he comes back, Natasha is in the kitchen and Sam is still in his bed, sleeping in. Steve goes back to the other hut. Bucky is sitting on his bed, yawning and stretching. Steve grabs a water bottle. “So… Did Natasha sleep over or…?”

“Oh, good,” Bucky replies, popping his right shoulder. “I already thought I had dreamt that.”

“I almost took a picture,” Steve offers, chugging the water. “Because you were so cute.”

“Are you suicidal,” Bucky asks horrified.

Steve snorts, putting the bottle down. “Yeah, well, I didn’t. I’ll take the shower, won’t be long.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m just saying,” Sam suggests. “Wouldn’t it be easier for everyone to switch back?”

“If you even ask her,” Bucky interrupts. “I’ll rip your fucking head off.”

“Geesh!” Sam exclaims. “Calm down. Just saying. Doesn’t make sense.”

“I couldn’t care less if it makes _sense_ ,” Bucky states coldly.

“We don’t need to change back at all,” Steve intervenes, hoping he’s not blushing too hard. “Let’s just leave it that way for now.”

“I just think we could _ask_ her,” Sam repeats. “But that was of course before I received death threats.”

“Do I need to say it again?” Bucky asks coldly.

“ _Stop_ , both of you,” Steve interrupts. “Really, can’t you just get along for once?”

“Not if he continues to threaten to _rip my head off_ ,” Sam returns. “Fine, fine, I’ll stop. Whatever.”

“He won’t do that,” Steve assures him. “Buck?”

Bucky looks very much like he would do that. Thankfully, Natasha slides onto her chair at that moment. “You look serious.”

“They’re fighting again,” Steve sighs.

Bucky gives Sam a menacing look that doesn’t escape Natasha’s notice. “So, boys,” she says. “Today’s the day.”

“What day,” Sam asks. “Monday?”

“I asked Ioanna for diving equipment,” Natasha explains. “So we’ll take a look at those coral riffs today.”

“Okay,” Steve remarks. “You decided that?”

“Of course,” Natasha replies. “Was I supposed to ask your opinion or something?”

“I mean,” Steve says. “Would have been good. But okay.”

“Okay,” Natasha continues. “So. Who of you idiots is most likely to drown?”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Sam comments. “Again.”

“Well, we only have two oxygen tanks,” Natasha explains. “So I can only watch one of you.”

“Не хочу,” Bucky mutters.

“I think we can all handle that,” Sam answers. “Right? Steve?”

“I’ve never actually done that,” Steve admits. “But if you show me…”

“I’m a trained pararescue,” Sam reminds him. “I could totally revive you.”

“And our flirting is weird?” Bucky questions.

“If you think that’s flirting, maybe you’re the one who’s weird,” Sam returns.

“Okay, you do you,” Natasha says. “How about you go first?”

“Sure, why not,” Steve agrees. “But let’s eat now.”

“А ты готов?” Natasha adds.

“Я восторженный,” Bucky mutters, piercing his scrambled eggs way harder than necessary.

“I appreciate you fighting in Russian,” Sam remarks. “Then I don’t have to listen to it.”

“We’re not _fighting_ ,” Natasha replies angrily. “Shut up.”

“Guys!” Steve exclaims. “What is going on? We’re just having breakfast. No need to lock horns like that.”

“ _Fine_.” Natasha pushes her chair back. “You come with me. Right now.”

Sam and Steve watch in horror as Bucky slams his fork down on the table, kicks his chair back and follows her into the hut before the door slams closed. “Wow. What the fuck?”

“No clue,” Steve replies worriedly. “That came pretty much out of nowhere. You think they’re fine?”

“I think they’re fighting,” Sam repeats, rubbing his hands. “God, I’d love to hear that.”

“That’s not nice,” Steve chides. “Should we, I don’t know, do something?”

“And what?” Sam asks back. “I don’t even hear anything. Are they whisper-fighting?”

“Let’s just.” Steve looks down on his plate. “Eat. And wait.”

 

* * *

 

“What the hell,” Natasha starts. “What the fuck was that about?”

“What the hell was what about,” Bucky asks right back. “Me stating my opinion? I do that sometimes.”

“How about you do that in a productive way,” Natasha suggests aggressively. “And not just say everything is shit.”

“How about you stop making me do stuff that I don’t want to,” Bucky shoots back. “What was I supposed to do? You were literally about to force me.”

“Oh, really,” Natasha remarks sourly. “You didn’t seem to mind that yesterday.”

“How _dare_ you compare that?!” Bucky almost shouts. “How dare you even bring that up?”

“How about you just tell me what your fucking problem is,” Natasha orders. “Just fucking tell me.”

“Oh, what,” Bucky remarks sourly. “You didn’t notice that I didn’t even go swimming yet? That’s what you want to tell me?”

“That’s not what your problem is!” Natasha counters exasperatedly. “That’s just a symptom. Your problem is with your metal arm.”

“But your problem is not sleeping in? That’s suddenly not a symptom?” Bucky asks aggressively. “Because I told you that I hate that. I fucking hate that.”

“Oh, so that’s what it’s about?” Natasha questions. “So what, it’s better if I don’t come over at all? Stay totally away so you don’t have to deal with the fact that things are not as easy as you would like? Maybe I should just leave and go back to New York or Wakanda or Saint Petersburg or whatever?”

“It would be better if you figured that the fuck out,” Bucky returns. “You just accept it like that, like it’s normal, like it’s okay to be that way, and it’s _not_. It’s all this- all this fucking bullshit that I hate, and you don’t even want to change it.”

“I _can’t_ change it,” Natasha explains exasperatedly. “I can’t- I can’t change how I feel. That’s just- kind of who I am.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Bucky answers coldly. “That’s not who you are. You learned it and you can unlearn it. You just need to put in the fucking work of actually dealing with it, but apparently that’s just not worth it to you.”

“That’s what you think?” Natasha asks. “I could just snap my fingers and solve everything and I just don’t want to?”

“I’m not saying it’s easy,” Bucky acknowledges. “I’m saying you could do it, or at least seriously try. But you just want to fuck and then drop everything as soon as it’s inconvenient for you.”

“Oh, now you’re complaining I just want to fuck?” Natasha states. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously!” Bucky repeats. “I thought we could really _have_ something this time, like a real relationship, not just sneaking and screwing around, without all this bullshit from before, even if it takes some time to build, but turns out you don’t actually want that. Which, fine, whatever, you’re under no obligation here, but you could just _say_ it.”

“I do want that!” Natasha repeats exasperatedly, for the umpteenth time. “I just- I just can’t. I don’t know. I can’t.”

“You know what your problem is?” Bucky asks. “It’s none of those always different new problems you keep finding and telling me and probably yourself. None of that pretext bullshit. Your problem is that whatever you may want, which I actually believe you, I guess, whatever you may want, you don’t think you _deserve_ it. Because you still think you’re some kind of a monster who can never ever have something good in their life again, you still think you’re going to get punished for it, you still think wanting something good for yourself is too much to ask. That’s what your problem really is, and until you get your eyes back in your head and actually acknowledge that, I’m not having any of your bullshit anymore because I’m just so, so done with all this half-assed fucking around.”

“That’s not true.” Natasha stares at him, frantically searching for a reply. “That’s not- that’s just not true.”

“Yeah, well, then prove me wrong,” Bucky replies. “Just do us both the favor and stop trying to come up with excuses. And you know what, fuck it, we can go swimming or scuba diving or whatever, I don’t care. Because I actually try to _face_ my problems.”

Natasha turns around, frantically striding up and down the room, then just sits down on his bed, rubbing her face. “Wow. Okay. So… what do we do now?”

“That’s up to you,” Bucky replies. “You wanted to know what I think and now you do. I’m done trying to pull you one way or another, and I’m done treating you like an unboiled egg and keeping every semblance of pressure off of you.”

“I can’t-” Natasha groans. “Just leave. Tell them I’m fine. No, wait, I’ll go. You wait here. Just a minute.”

“Really,” Bucky comments sarcastically. “Were you listening? Going back to never leaving a room at the same time was not my point.”

“You’re an asshole,” Natasha replies coldly. “Just do as I say. Got that much of a problem with it?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Fine. If it helps you. Just this once, though, you hear me?”

“You don’t threaten me,” Natasha warns coldly, putting a smile on her face before opening the door.

Sam and Steve both stop eating and look up on full alert. Natasha strides out, casually takes a slice of bread and rips it apart. “So. I’m going swimming.”

“You’re-” Steve watches as she downs her cup of water. “Are you okay?”

“Hell yeah,” Natasha replies, putting the cup down and shoving the bread in her mouth. “See ya.”

She’s off the porch before anyone dares ask any more questions. Bucky pulls the door open and leans in the doorframe with a quizzical expression. “Are you- is she okay?” Steve asks again.

“No, she’s not,” Bucky replies, arms crossed, eyes on the beach. “But she wanted me to tell you she is. So. She’s fine.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Steve take a page out of the making-out-in-the-kitchen book. Natasha expects too much of herself. Bucky knows he's a fucking dumbass.

“God,” Bucky mutters. “I already regret it.”

“Bucky,” Steve says. “It’s been barely an hour.”

Bucky snorts. “Oh please. You couldn’t even sleep just because Wilson over there said he wanted to talk to you.”

Sam, lying on his front, pushes himself up at the mention of his name. “Wait, what? You couldn’t sleep?”

Steve groans, blushing. “You weren’t supposed to tell him that, Buck.”

“Did he also call you a whiny bitch?” Sam asks. “Cause Nat called me a whiny bitch.”

“I bet you were being a whiny bitch,” Bucky challenges.

Sam snorts. “You’ve been staring at Nat swimming for an entire hour now. Who’s the whiny one?”

“As long as she doesn’t come out,” Bucky mutters.

“Why? She’s been swimming so long, I’m starting to worry she will drown,” Steve asks.

“Don’t worry,” Sam replies, settling his head on his arms again. “Again, trained pararescue. Also, Barnes doesn’t take his eyes off her to even blink, so he’d notice immediately.”

“What,” Bucky remarks dryly. “Neither of you dumbasses noticed her clothes in the heap over there?”

Steve leans forward to see past him. Sam raises his head. “Oh. Right. Makes sense. Oh no.”

Sam snorts. “Maybe that’s why she doesn’t come out.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Bucky replies. “She could go to any beach, where we wouldn’t even see her.”

“Yes,” Steve agrees, his ears red. “But all of her clothes are here.”

Bucky sighs. “So what? We lock ourselves in the huts? Come on, she doesn’t care.”

“Well, _I_ care,” Steve protests. “Come on. Let’s go to the kitchen.”

Sam gets up pretty quick. Bucky snorts. “Fine, you go. I’ll go get her clothes that are not full of sand.”

“Wow, dude,” Sam remarks, putting on his sunglasses. “You’re never ever gonna win that argument.”

* * *

 

“So,” Sam starts. “How long do we stay in here? How will we know that we can leave?”

Steve snorts, pouring himself some orange juice. “I don’t know, Sam. Are you in a hurry?”

Sam grins, gently nudging Steve back against the counter. “Nope. Door closed, nobody’s coming in.”

“Ioanna might,” Steve remarks, putting the OJ away and running his hands over Sam’s shoulders. “Can’t lock the door.”

“Ah, she won’t,” Sam assures him, kissing him and grabbing his waist. “She won’t.”

Steve blushes, pulling back. “So, when you said you wanted to change back… did you mean, like, because you want to- you know.”

“Nooo,” Sam replies, kissing down Steve’s neck. “No, I didn’t mean that. Unless of course you want to. Then yes, I did mean that.”

Steve exhales, gripping the edge of the counter while Sam carefully bites his neck. “Okay. Okay.”

“Gosh, you’re adorable,” Sam comments. “Can I take off your shirt?”

“Yes, yes,” Steve says a bit too fast, already lifting his arms.

Sam hides his grin while pulling Steve’s shirt off, then puts his hands on Steve’s chest and almost groans. Steve tugs at the hem of Sam’s shirt. “Come on. You too.”

“Whatever you say, babe,” Sam replies in a husky voice, pulling his shirt over his head himself. He puts it on the counter with Steve’s, putting his hands on Steve’s and leaning forward to kiss him, bare chests touching. Steve whimpers when Sam bites on his lower lip. Sam wants to groan as well. Just the feel of Steve’s rock-hard, chiseled chest. Sam moves a bit to the left and right, rubbing against him. Steve entwines his fingers with Sam’s, pulling him slightly closer. Sam takes that as a sign to kiss down the stubble on Steve’s neck. Yeah, the beard.

Steve’s breathing is getting more and more labored. Sam presses his hips forward, knocking Steve against the counter, and runs his hands over Steve’s broad chest, down his sides to his narrow hips. Steve groans, head dropping back, eyes closed. Sam slips his hand down Steve’s front, starting to unsubtly rub his crotch. The reaction he gets is very honest.

“Sam?” Steve breathes, mouth open.

Sam stops and leans forward, pressing his cheek against Steve’s so he can whisper in his ear. “Yeah, babe?”

Steve blushes. “Can you just… go back to what you were doing before?”

Sam pulls his hand back up to Steve’s abs, also kissing him on the lips. “Sure, babe.”

Steve snorts, gripping Sam’s head and pulling him in. “Do you have to say that?”

Sam slips his tongue in Steve’s mouth before pulling back to grin. “Maybe I just want to.”

Steve’s hands both slip down to Sam’s ass. “You’re horrible.”

Sam grins, pressing back against Steve’s hands. “If you say so, babe.”

Steve gives him a serious look before his hands suddenly pull Sam’s hips towards him, snapping his own forward at the same time. Sam shrieks like an undignified pterodactyl. A shit-eating grin enters Steve’s face. Sam groans inwardly. Of course. This little shit. Big shit. Whatever.

“Maybe you’re horrible as well,” Sam suggests, lifting his hand to pinch Steve’s nipple. “Did you do that to Sharon too?”

Steve rolls his eyes, blushing. “How about you don’t bring up my ex right now?”

“Or what,” Sam asks amusedly, pulling on Steve’s nipple until he gasps. “You’re gonna give me a stern look?”

“You’re way too kinky for me right now,” Steve mutters, putting his hands on Sam’s shoulders.

“Okay, I’ll can that for later,” Sam agrees, kissing him. “Okay?”

Steve groans. “Okay. Great.”

* * *

 

She gets out of the water soon after Sam and Steve left, walking straight to the recliner and basically ignoring him but also picking up the towel and clothes he brought without comment. Something in the way she rubs her hair dry just says she doesn’t care about being naked.

“So,” Bucky starts lamely.

Natasha snorts, dropping the towel on the recliner and picking up the fresh panties. “What, you already regret everything you said?”

“I literally just said _So_ ,” Bucky replies.

She can’t have heard it, but she just knows anyway, of course. She shakes some sand off her wet feet before slipping the panties on. “You got me clothes and a towel and sat there waiting impatiently for me to come back.”

“Nothing I said was about not wanting to be nice to you,” he reminds her. Gosh, Wilson was right, he’s just going to end up giving in. “Or not wanting to talk to you or spend time with you. Quite the opposite.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and picks up the bra. “Well, I thought about it and if you’re not willing to give me the time and space I need, we better stop this whole thing right here.”

“No, no, it’s not about giving you time,” he interrupts exasperatedly. “I’d give you all the time in the world if you, you know, were actually trying to do something with it. It just feels like you only want the easy parts and keep putting me off on everything else.”

She disappears in her dress for a moment before she has her arms sorted out. “So you don’t trust me.”

That thought never even crossed his mind, so he’s dumbfounded for a few moments. She rubs at her hair again without comment. “I do trust you. Of course I trust you. But you’re just not doing anything.”

“So, what would that look like, if I did something?” Natasha asks. “Cause I honestly don’t know. I have no clue how to do this. I have no clue how to fix this. I’m not even sure what the problem is exactly.”

It’s not like she hasn’t been saying this. Just never this plainly. “I think you do,” Bucky says. “You’re just not willing to acknowledge it.”

Natasha sighs. “Look, when I sleep in your bed, that’s me trying. And when I throw you out or slip away before sunrise, that’s me failing. That’s all I know. I don’t know if and how it gets me anywhere. I can’t explain even to myself what the problem is. That’s why I have all these changing explanations and reasons, because I always think that this time, I’ve got it. I don’t know, maybe you’re right and I’m just not… confident that this can work, and I’m trying to protect myself from getting in to deep.”

“I never really felt the pain,” he states. “Of losing you. That was all on you, all the years.”

Natasha sits down, rubbing over her wrinkled fingers. “Yeah, maybe it’s that. I don’t know. I’m just scared. Of whatever.”

“But see, when you say that,” Bucky comments. “I kind of hear that you don’t want to risk it. That it’s not worth it to you. Which is probably not fair, but… that’s how it sounds to me. Like you don’t want to endure the discomfort to get to where you say you want to be.”

“Discomfort is putting it mildly,” Natasha mutters, still looking at her hands. “It feels like… when sunrise is approaching and we’re together, it feels like we’re jumping in the abyss again, and I see it right in front of me and I know what’s going to happen, and… if I don’t stop it, it’s my fault again, and I can’t think about anything else than that abyss. Sorry.”

“Nothing is going to happen,” Bucky says in a soothing voice. “You don’t need to worry. This is the happy part of the story, where no one's around. We can just… go for it, and that’s it. Forever.”

Natasha wipes the side of her nose and he realizes she’s crying. “Is it the happy part? Doesn’t feel like it. Fuck, I’m sorry. It’s supposed to be the happy part, and here I am making it all difficult and frustrating and- I love you. I do, and I’m so sorry that I’m not able to- give you that, in a normal way, that I can’t just be with you and be happy about it, that I can’t express that in a way that doesn’t involve sucking your dick. I’m just- I’m sorry.”

He slides onto the recliner next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders and regretting that it’s the left one. “Gosh, Nat. You’re doing it again.”

She sniffles quietly, wiping at one eye. “What? Fucking up?”

“You’re expecting too much of yourself,” he explains, touching her blonde hair with his right hand. “You don’t need to be perfect. You don’t need to- be uncomplicated and have no issues to deserve some happiness. You behave like you’re disappointing me, and that couldn’t be more wrong.”

“But I am,” Natasha insists. “You even said so. You were disappointed when I threw you out of my bed. You were disappointed because I wasn’t trying hard enough in your eyes.”

“But that’s really not on you,” Bucky protests. “I’m sorry if it came across that way. It’s just… when you threw me out, I saw how bad it was for you, how much it affected you, still affects you. And that got me mad. That they did that to you, harmed you like that, that they still have so much power over you, us. When you’re… paralyzed, I guess, afraid, I’m not mad at you for not trying. I’m mad at them for making you that way.”

“You literally said the opposite an hour ago,” Natasha reminds him dryly.

He did, because he’s a fucking dumbass. “I didn’t mean that. I was just mad. And it’s not like I can scream at all those guys. I can sadly only scream at you.”

Natasha looks down at her hands again. “Don’t worry. They’re dead.”

“They’re-” He stares at her. “All of them? Sure?”

“Exposed them to poisonous gas,” Natasha says slowly. “Listened to their screams. You still want to claim I’m a good person who deserves stuff?”

He pulls her stiff figure against him. “Natashenka, do you think I deserve a second chance? After everything?”

“Of course,” she replies impatiently. “You’re trying, after all.”

“Well, you’re trying so much harder than me,” he reminds her. “I just stopped doing bad stuff, or tried to. You actually tried to make up for it.”

Natasha sighs. “Can we just not have sex this time around?”

“What the fuck,” Bucky states amusedly. “What is that supposed to mean, this time around?”

Natasha snorts. “Yeah, well, I pretty much only fuck you when I feel emotionally vulnerable. And whenever I fuck you, I feel emotionally vulnerable. And… gosh, I don’t know. I just don’t know.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha talks. Steve can't believe it. Bucky tries something and fails.

“What the hell,” Sam repeats. “Just this morning, when I asked, you got super mad- and threatened to rip my head off, need I remind you- and now you decided you do actually want to change back?”

“I don’t owe you nice stuff like an explanation,” Bucky replies simply. “Come on, help me change the sheets.”

Natasha is sitting outside in front of the porch, holding a mug with both hands and staring grimly at the sea. Steve pulls a chair next to hers. “Wow, your tea smells good.”

Natasha sighs. “Well, bad times call for good tea.”

Steve drops his head back to look at the sky with all its stars. There’s so little light pollution here, less than pretty much anywhere in the world. Other than the light coming from the hut where Sam and Bucky are fighting about how to correctly handle the sheets. “Bad times? I thought you were better. You’re moving back after all.”

“But that’s not because I’m ready,” Natasha replies, taking a sip. “Because I’m not. Nothing has changed. I’m going to fuck this up, no doubt about it. Today and tomorrow and the day after that. I’m going to fuck this up every single day in the hope that maybe, one day I’m going to get somewhere with it. And until then, I’ll just fuck it up.”

Steve grins. “Wow, Nat. That’s incredibly romantic.”

Natasha snorts. “You’re not getting any of this excellent tea.”

“Wasn’t counting on it, I know you’re that mean,” Steve replies, folding his hands. “So, what changed? I mean, you just said nothing has changed, but you’re still moving. Why did you change your mind?”

Natasha sighs. “Well, James promised he wouldn’t be mad or disappointed or whatever, no matter what. Which is not going to happen, but okay.”

Steve thinks of Natasha in Bucky’s bed at night, and Bucky sleeping alone in the morning. “He doesn’t like it when he doesn’t wake up next to you?”

Natasha takes another sip. “Well, what’s not liking. He said he hates it. The whole thing is… kind of emotionally charged, for both of us, but in different ways. I thought it would be best to avoid it altogether, but what do I know.”

“You know how you feel,” Steve suggests. “Which, believe it or not, matters a lot. So if you’re not comfortable sleeping in, for whatever reason, you shouldn’t do it.”

“But I want to,” Natasha replies exasperatedly. “That’s the whole issue. On the one side is what I want, what he wants, what we both want, and on the other… I don’t even know, my petty emotions that I can’t get rid of, I guess.”

“Jesus Christ, Nat,” Steve sighs. “Stop doing that thing where as soon as you feel slightly inhibited by your emotions, you take a sledgehammer to them.”

“Yeah, fuck that,” Natasha replies coldly. “If my emotions hurt me, they have to go. Just like everything and everyone else.”

“That doesn’t make even an ounce of sense,” Steve says. “They’re your emotions, for God’s sake. It’s perfectly normal to want something and not want it at the same time.”

Natasha sighs, leaning back, staring up in the dark sky and saying nothing. “How about you start at the beginning,” Steve suggests. “And  _ tell _ me about the beginning.”

“The beginning,” Natasha repeats. “Well, in 1613, Michael I became the first tsar from-”

“Maybe not  _ that  _ far,” Steve interrupts. “Just the relevant parts.”

“That’s kind of relevant, I’m related to him,” Natasha comments. “Very distantly, but he’s a Romanoff. Anyway, I don’t know. Where do you want me to start?”

She can never make anything easy for him. Steve sighs. “How about after you became the Black Widow?”

It’s cowardly, but he doesn’t have the stomach for it right now. Natasha stares in the dark distance and thinks. “After. Mhm. Well. I don’t know if that’s relevant, but… when I was 18, just turned 18, in fact, I met this guy. Test pilot of the Russian air force. A bit older than me, but still fairly young. Daring and handsome and… charming, I guess. Poster boy for the new Russia, if that sounds familiar to you. He was quite smitten with me as well, and when they found out… well, we married only months later.”

“Wait,” Steve interrupts. “You  _ married _ ?”

“Barely knew the guy,” Natasha explains. “But he was pleasant to be around and probably the first guy I met who wasn’t an asshole, and I was 18 and fell head over heels for him. Not to mention all those people who talked us into it.”

“Why would they do that?” Steve asks.

Natasha sighs. “Well, they thought we would keep each other on track, ideologically. In the end, it was always about binding me, us to them.”

“Did it work?” Steve asks.

Natasha shakes her head. “That’s way more complicated than you think. Anyway, after a few weeks or months, when the hormones wear off, we… kind of realize the situation we are in, that we don’t even know each other. Which is awkward when you’re married. And- I’d say we grew apart, but that implies we were together before. But we certainly moved in very different directions and went from living together to coexisting.”

“Did you live together? Literally?” Steve questions.

“Yeah.” Nat takes a sip. “Thinking about it now, that might be why I wanted to marry him, because I wanted desperately to move out of the Red Room, to have a modicum of freedom. So they gave me a husband to make sure I wouldn’t stray away too far. Guess that kind of worked.”

“That sounds more like house arrest than like freedom,” Steve remarks.

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad, it was just… nothing,” Natasha replies. “I think we had sex three or four times, in total. After a few weeks, we didn’t tell each other anymore where we were going. We completely stopped talking after a few months. Other people sometimes say they became like brother and sister, but we really just became what we were in the first place, total strangers.”

“That sounds lonely,” Steve remarks. Natasha looks at him weird. “So, what happened to him?”

“Well, he was a test pilot,” Natasha reminds him. “So, one day, his plane crashed and he was dead. Just like that. Actually, it’s quite likely that they sabotaged or even shot the plane so that he would die, but I can’t prove that, so… Guess I’m a literal widow.”

“And how was that for you?” Steve asks. “How long were you married?”

Natasha shrugs. “About a year. I cried when he died. I was devastated. Probably not because I missed him so much, but… he was everything I had. Kind of like family. Now, all that was left was the Red Room.”

“So you went back,” Steve states.

Natasha sighs. “So I went back.”

“Is that why you think they killed him on purpose?” Steve questions.

“Smart cookie,” Natasha remarks sarcastically. “In the end, it was always about the effect it would have on my psyche. They were very afraid of losing me, I guess.”

“And then you met Bucky?” Steve suggests.

Natasha snorts. “Yeah, I’m not telling you that now. Next time I feel so brutally honest, maybe.”

“Next time?” Steve repeats horrified. “Nat, that could take  _ years _ .”

“Ah, I know you’re very patient,” Natasha brushes off. “And concerning Sam, you’re changing back, so you don’t need to wait anymore.”

Steve groans. “Really? Do you always have to make everything about that? Is that your defense mechanism?”

“You might be onto something there,” Natasha remarks thoughtfully, taking a sip. “Or embarrassing you is my defense mechanism. Who knows, really.”

* * *

 

“Sooooo.” Bucky stretches the word almost infinitely. Maybe it just feels that way because it is so annoying. “Nervous yet?”

Natasha groans and stretches away from him. “Did you just fucking wake me to ask that?”

“Without the fucking,” Bucky replies. “So?”

“I was sleeping,” Natasha repeats. “For fuck’s sake.”

“You keep saying that word,” Bucky remarks idly, pulling her hips back against him.

“Are you crazy,” Natasha returns. “You woke me. I don’t wanna fuck.”

Bucky grins and starts kissing her neck. “Asking doesn’t hurt.”

“It does,” Natasha corrects, pushing him away. “If I punch you because you woke me.”

* * *

 

She wakes up later again with an  _ Oh shit _ -feeling. He’s breathing. In her bed. He’s here. He’s here. He shouldn’t be here. Every breath he takes is too much. He’s sleeping, which is even worse, because he’s defenseless right now, and she is-

Panicking. She pokes his calve with her toes. Her head is on his shoulder, as she realizes now, her blonde hair sprawled over his naked back, and she somehow doesn’t dare move, but she frantically digs her toes into his calves. He groans beneath her. “Just five minutes.”

He must be crazy. “Not even five seconds,” she hisses. “Come on, get up!”

“How about you get up,” he returns, moving his head to the other side. “Urgh.”

Her heart is beating way too fast. “You’re in my bed,” she reminds him. “Get out. Before it’s too late.”

He snorts because she sounds ridiculous, she knows that, too late, what is that supposed to mean, nothing is going to happen in the next two hours, heck, even three, except for the sun rising and- No. She can’t handle it. She just can’t. He pushes himself up slowly, grinning down at her head that’s hit the pillow. “Sure you don’t want a little distraction?”

“I feel like I’m about to die,” she hisses, kicking his legs again. “And you’re still thinking about nothing but sex?”

His left elbow hits the mattress because he has to steady himself, but he’s still infuriatingly grinning. “Fine, fine. I’ll go.”

He’s trying to trick her. Being an asshole so she can be mad instead of feeling guilty. She’s not sure whether she appreciates the effort or is mad at the realization. He’s just slipping through the mosquito nets and she slips after him, silently, kicking at his feet and pulling at his shoulders, basically tackling him to the floor. She knows the right spots and he’s too surprised to stop her, though not too surprised to keep his head from hitting the wooden floor. She climbs over him before he can even blink. “Wow, you’re such a fucking idiot.”

“Are you fucking serious,” he asks, staring up at her in utter disbelief. “Sleeping in your bed is not okay, but making out on the floor right next to it, right there, is? You’re not making any fucking sense whatsoever, darling.”

“Shut up.” She pulls her shirt over her head. “Do you wanna get screwed or not?”

He snorts, flipping her onto her back. Her left leg hits the room divider. “I don’t want to just screw. Told you. Just because we’re fucking doesn’t mean everything is magically fixed.”

“Gosh, do you have to make everything so serious,” she replies, arching her hips against him. “I really just want to get hammered. That’s it.”

He rolls his eyes. “Do you have to make me feel like just a convenient fuck all the- you know what, okay. Whatever.”

He finally pulls off her panties and slips down her body until he can bite the insides of her thighs. She sighs, relaxing a bit. She’s still on too much adrenaline. Though she’s probably not gonna die. Just the little deaths.

He moves up her thighs fairly quickly, remarkably efficient. She groans at the feeling of his mouth where she wants it. His tongue darts out, the underside sliding carefully over her clitoris before the top swirls around and then crosses over. She curses. This is just straight out of the book. Whatever book. What she means is that it’s really methodical, strictly following the steps, one by one. The tip of his tongue pushes against her clitoris and she yelps, back arching, and he drags the rough part over her bundle of nerves while she loses it.

He looks up as if he’s checking something on her face, then lifts her hips so he can suck on her labia. She groans, grabbing a pillow from the bed and placing it under her butt. His tongue enters her without meeting resistance and it feels great. Her sigh intensifies. He grins, pulling back to replace his tongue with his fingers. His lips move back up to her clitoris. She lets her head drop to the side and lets go and it’s not long until she’s screaming again.

After the fourth orgasm, she’s loose. The panic she felt before seems unimaginable. Unreasonable. He’s wiping over his mouth. She grins at him as an invitation. “Come here? Or want me to come to you?”

“No,” he says simply, and maybe she’s fuzzy and getting it wrong, but when he sits back, it becomes clear beyond a doubt.

She sits up immediately with a fluttering feeling in her chest. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” he replies, crossing his arms on his knees. “I’d just rather talk?”

“About what?” she asks, gears turning in her head. Something’s going on. Something. “Now?”

He snorts. “Yeah, well, maybe you’re less bone-headed now, because if you say one more time that you just want to fuck, I’m going to scream.”

He’s trying to play her. Anger bubbles up in her chest. “Did you really eat me out just to lower my defenses?”

He groans. “Great, you’re already getting in your own way again. And no, it was pretty fun.”

Natasha snorts, pulling at her shirt that he’s half sitting on. “Wow. Get out.”

He rolls his eyes, moving off the shirt. “Come on. You’re trying to bullshit me all the time. Yourself as well. Like, really? Just fucking? We have history. We’re not two people who just met in a bar.”

“And you thought what?” Natasha asks, pulling on her panties. “If you make me come a few times, I’ll tell you some supposed truth?”

“Yeah, okay, that was wrong,” he admits. “Just thought you’d not have this infuriating need to protect yourself from whatever. You couldn’t even tell from what.”

“Well, unless you have a way to fix that, maybe you should just shut up about it,” Natasha returns sourly. “Cause you’re not helping.”

He sighs. “Look, I know it’s not easy, but you could really panic a bit less.”

She gets up and puts the pillow back on the bed. There are no signs now, no traces, no evidence, except for him sitting on the floor. “Gosh, you really couldn’t just have let me ride your dick.”

“Stop acting like I’m asking for something unreasonable,” he returns bitterly. “It’s not unreasonable. You said you wanted that, several times.”

“That’s not the point,” Natasha argues. “You’re making it really uncomfortable for me, with all your talking. Talking doesn’t do anything for either of us. Being all disappointed and fighting won’t get us anywhere. Just because it’s painful doesn’t mean it's helping.”

He sighs. “So just fucking? For God knows how long?”

Natasha sits down in front of him. “Look, I know that- You think I’m going to get all comfortable with just fucking and then I’m not going to try to figure out the rest. But you just need to trust me that that’s not going to happen. I can’t give you anything more than that. Just trust me.”

He smiles. “It’s just, I know you. But okay. I trust you.”

She touches his right hand. “Come on. Let’s get breakfast. And don’t you dare tell me you already ate something.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is at the end of his wisdom. Sam can't believe they're doing this again. Bucky might need things screamed into his face.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve says. “What am I supposed to tell you this time? I’m not an eternal spring of wisdom.”

“Don’t say anything,” Bucky says, rubbing his eyes. “Just listen while I’m moping, that would be great.”

“I can do that, of course,” Steve agrees. “But really, why do you always end up like this? You’re adults, you should be able to figure that out.”

Bucky sighs. “Look, it’s- it’s so fucking complicated, I don’t even know.”

“Well, I don’t know either,” Steve replies. “Every time I try and give you advice, you come back with a different problem.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, well, please don’t talk about the whole cutting off one head thing.”

“What? No!” Steve rejects. “Wasn’t going to. Really.”

“That’s kind of what it feels like, though,” Bucky muses. “You know, like the guy with the rolling stone. You know.”

“Rolling Stones?” Steve asks. “No clue.”

“No, the one who keeps getting rolled over by the rock,” Bucky explains. “The Greek one.”

“Oh.” Steve shakes his head. “Sisyphos. Don’t ask me to spell it though.”

“Yeah, doesn’t matter,” Bucky waves off. “Anyway. Nat.”

Steve sighs. “Yeah. Nat.”

“It might actually be easier if she didn’t want to fuck,” Bucky suggests. “I can’t deal with those mixed signals. Like, my head thinks either she needs space or she doesn’t. Both at the same time is just confusing.”

“I’m sure it’s confusing for her as well,” Steve adds.

“Definitely,” Bucky agrees. “But then, I can’t ever say No, because I don’t actually want to, like today- sorry, too much. But really, I can’t. And that’s driving me nuts.”

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ,” Sam’s voice interrupts. “Not  _ again _ .”

Sam, standing in the doorway, looks pretty pissed. Steve looks confused. “We were just talking about-”

“ _ Exactly _ ,” Sam interrupts. “I can’t believe these two idiots screwed it up again. I don’t even want to know what it was this time. Can I just have one day where I don’t have to worry about other people’s problems? I’m not even a fucking counsellor anymore. I fucking quit that job. Can y’all just  _ leave me the fuck alone _ ?”

Steve and Bucky exchange a look. “Oh, don’t look at each other like that,” Sam continues immediately. “There’s no helping someone who wants to fix something that can’t be fixed right now. Have you considered that you’re not supposed to do jack shit? Maybe have some fucking patience and stop trying to push her. And while you’re at it, maybe also admit that besides the ton of problems you admit to having, you also have a shit ton that you just ignore. Talking to both of you. Not you, babe, you’re perfect.”

“Hey, buddy,” Bucky replies with amusement, getting up. “I’ll just go. Don’t mind me.”

“Please go,” Sam mutters, putting his stuff down on his bed. “I can’t fucking believe we’re still talking about this.”

Steve grins while the door falls closed. “Hey, babe. You seem a little tense.”

Sam scoffs, fiddling with his sunglasses. “I can’t believe everything is always about  _ them _ .”

Sam gets up, puts his arms around Sam’s waist and noses his neck. “Mhm. It’s not.”

Sam relaxes and leans back against him. “Promise?”

“Sure,” Steve replies, kissing down to his collarbone. “Everything you want.”

Sam grins and turns around. “Oh. Careful.”

Steve snorts. “Come on. What do you want?”

Sam puts his arms around Steve’s neck, kissing him. “I want to take off your shirt. And your pants. All your clothes.”

Steve pretends to be super relaxed. “Sure. Do that.”

Sam shoots him an amused look, but his hands start sneaking under Steve’s shirt, stroking over his abs. “So eager all of a sudden?”

Steve blushes and tries to hide it by biting Sam’s neck before he has to pull back so the shirt goes over his head. Sam throws it carelessly on the floor. “Seriously, why are you so nervous about everything, babe? Just sit back and relax.”

Steve takes that literally, even though he’s not sure Sam meant it that way, and sits on Sam’s bed. Sam briefly rolls his eyes because he wanted to take his pants off first, but whatever. He slides next to him, one hand on the other side of Steve’s thighs, leaning over to kiss him deeply. One of Steve’s hands grabs his head and pulls him even closer. Sam’s hand wanders to Steve’s rock-hard thigh and then up, up, up. Steve blushes again. Sam grins, biting his earlobe and not doing anything with his hand until Steve impatiently pushes his crotch against it. Also quite hard already. Sam pops the bottom on Steve’s pants and pulls the zipper down, pushing his hand beneath. Steve groans. “Come on, Sam. Just take it off already.”

Sam grins, slapping his ass or what he can reach of it. “Then you need to get up, old man.”

Steve is standing within seconds and Sam pushes those pants and boxer shorts down, not even caring to get Steve’s legs out of it. Instead he directly grabs Steve’s dick and starts stroking. Steve grabs onto Sam’s shoulders to steady himself. His eyes fall closed, his teeth start worrying on his pink bottom lip. “Sam, why are you still wearing so much?”

Sam snorts, not stopping the motions of his hand. “Oh, you noticed.”

Steve rolls his eyes without opening them, muttering: “Take it off.”

“Hm?” Sam asks with amusement, twisting his wrist to make Steve groan. “Sorry, babe. Didn’t quite catch that.”

Steve groans, then opens his eyes and gives him a stern look. “Take. It. Off.”

That tone makes Sam let go very quickly and pull his shirt over his head. Steve is already fiddling with his pants. Sam pushes them all the way down, stepping out of them. Steve does the same.

They look at each other for a second, breathing hard, and then they crash together again, kissing and grabbing and rubbing against each other. One of them stumbles towards the bed, probably Steve because he falls onto it first. Sam climbs over him, not willing to lose contact. Steve pulls his head down, trying to get his legs fully onto the bed as well. Sam has to push up again to let him, but then he can lower his whole body on Steve’s, touching everywhere. He groans.

Steve grabs his ass and pulls him up a bit and also kisses him wherever he can reach, which is mostly Sam’s cheeks and neck. Sam groans again, pushing up on one arm. And he thought he was the one who could handle this. “Can I-”

Steve’s already nodding and Sam gathers his breath before wrapping his hand around both of their dicks, pressing them together. Steve mewls, the purest of noises. Sam forces himself to take another breath before pushing his hips forwards against his hand. It takes a bit for Steve to catch on, because he’s already totally blissed out, but then he starts doing the same in perfect sync with Sam’s movements.

Hot wetness starts gathering in Sam’s hand, sweat and precum, which makes every movement even more delicious. He’s rubbing against his hand and against Steve’s dick. His right arm, with which he’s holding up, is starting to shake. Fuck. So close already. Though Steve is definitely not far behind. Sam bites his lip and stops for a moment to shift a bit of weight away from his right arm. Steve opens his eyes to see what’s going on. Sam forces himself to smile, even though he feels more like cursing. His right hand that’s pressed onto the mattress is shaking.

Steve pulls on Sam’s left wrist, causing him to let go, and replaces Sam’s hand with his own. Sam groans and puts the left hand next to Steve’s head, even though it’s smearing the sheets. Steve starts pushing his hips up again, this time into his own hand. Sam joins after taking a deep breath, now steady on two arms. Steve’s head drops back and he’s biting his now even pinker lower lip. “Fuck.”

“ _ What _ ”, Sam asks, because even though he’s close, he’ll never let such an opportunity slide. “ _ What  _ did you just say?”

“Fuck,” Steve repeats, deliberately. “I’m going to come.”

“Yeah, me too,” Sam replies breathlessly, trying to keep up with Steve’s rhythm. “You don’t need to say-”

A moment of distraction and he’s done for, groaning as his balls tighten up and his cum shoots onto Steve’s stomach and chest. Steve licks his horribly pink lips, looking down and pumping his hand two more times before he comes as well.

Sam is barely holding up anymore and is very glad when Steve pulls him down onto him. He couldn’t care less about getting all dirty. He only cares about catching his breath. Steve’s body is hot like a furnace.

Steve is lazily stroking the back of Sam’s head with his clean left hand. He seems less out of breath, or Sam just can’t hear him over his own gasps. Not that it matters. They don’t have to do anything, after all.

It gets sticky and uncomfortable after a while, unfortunately, and Sam hesitantly pushes himself up. They’re both covered in semen, half-dried already. Kleenex is not going to do the trick here. He sighs and sits up. “Hey, babe. Shower?”

Steve looks like a lazy, fat cat, the way he’s sprawled out on the bed. Very content as well. Sam’s dick throbs at the sight. Steve lazily opens his eyes. “Mhm. Yeah.”

Sam snorts. “Yeah, well, then get up. I think I need something to steady myself.”

* * *

 

“Hey Nat,” Bucky starts. “Do you think I should stop... pushing?”

“Pushing what,” Natasha asks unconcerned. “Boundaries? Daisies? Drugs? Yeah, in that case you should.”

He snorts and takes the clean plate out of her hands. “Come on. Stop playing stupid.”

“Yes, you should stop pushing me,” Natasha acquiesces without looking at him. “But I already told you that.”

“Really?” he asks, reaching for a tea towel. “When?”

Natasha snorts. “Oh, this morning? When I told you to just trust me?”

“Wait, that’s what you meant?” Bucky scrunches up his nose. “Maybe you should scream it in my face next time. Cause I didn’t quite get the message.”

“What else could I have meant?” Natasha asks back. “Seriously, what were you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” he acknowledges. “Not much, probably. I was kind of preoccupied with being mad at you. And not having screwed you.”

Natasha grins. “Oh, so you did want to.”

Bucky snorts. “Of course I wanted to. Come on.”

“And you were just being totally boneheaded when you said the opposite,” Natasha completes. “Geesh, I wonder where I heard that before.”

Bucky groans. “Okay, okay. No need to be mean. I’m well aware I also have issues.”

Natasha snorts, leaning over the sink to reach for some cutlery at the bottom. “Oh, absolutely. I could name a few.”

“Really? Like what?” Bucky asks, even though he probably doesn’t want to hear the answer.

“Oh, where do I start,” Natasha muses, fishing for a fork. “You’re pretty insecure. Anxious to fall back. Like, when I suggest that I’m not over everything that… happened, you get really nervous. Or, no matter how often I tell you that I do want to be with you, you still don’t quite believe me. And that’s why you’re so eager to nail me down on something, because you think otherwise I might just be up and away any moment.”

His chest constricts at the thought. “And that’s what you get just out of me saying that I hate being thrown out of your bed.”

She hands him the fork, grinning. “And your impatience, on the one hand, and on the other your refusal to have sex with me even though you want to. And other things.”

“Ah, the famous other things.” He puts the dry fork in its drawer. “So I’m pushing you because I’m insecure? You couldn’t have told me that earlier?”

Natasha grins. “Come on, that’s precisely what  _ just trust me  _ means.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, please also scream that in my face next time.”

“Oh, and you think that what worked for you also works for me,” Natasha adds. “In terms of working through stuff. Which it doesn’t.”

“I got that one, this morning,” Bucky acknowledges, not without pride. “So, I should just… do nothing? Nothing whatsoever?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “You want to get tied up again?”

“I didn’t-” He groans. “That’s not what I was asking for. Yes.”

Natasha grins, draining the water from the sink. “Yeah, I’ll let you know when I feel like it.”

* * *

 

She doesn’t tie him up, and she throws him out of her bed again, but this time it’s closer to sunrise.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Natasha fuck. That's it.

They go scuba-diving the next day because she promises to tie him up and have her wicked way with him later. It’s far less difficult for him than he thought, really, just do what she does and don’t think about the fact that his arm might get damaged or short-circuit or some bullshit. The water is shallow, so he doesn’t worry about drowning either. He doesn’t enjoy the colorful corals in their many shapes as much as she does, but that’s okay, really.

He always calls the thing Shuri put on his arm a hologram, but it’s much more than that. It doesn’t just look like a human arm, it also moves and feels like it, even though not quite, as Natasha would confirm. It’s more like the tech of the Black Panther suit- actual, physical, artificial skin that covers the metal arm at the press of a button. He always turns it on before leaving his hut, under the pretext that Ioanna might see him, but he knows Nat thinks he shouldn’t. She has a lot of opinions that she doesn’t necessarily share with him, or anyone.

When he gets back to their hut and turns off the hologram, left arm still wet, the water just falls off with the receding semblance of skin. He touches the metal in awe. Bone dry, except for a few drops here and there. He lifts the hand and moves his fingers to inspect the cracks and joints, but there is not a drop of water to be found. Amazing.

Before he can think about what that means, he hears Nat dragging her nails over the grooves in the zip ties. Unmistakable noise. He grins and turns around. “Don’t think you should sweet-talk me first?”

Nat’s grin is much more dangerous and the sound of her snapping the zip ties against her thigh creates goosebumps on his back. Gosh, a little less kinky would be enough. “Nah. Don’t remember promising that.”

He wants to touch her but doesn’t feel like he’s allowed to. The zip ties in his head, already. “Well, then. Pray tell.”

“Get on the bed,” she says, matter-of-fact. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

He lies down, sighing, not caring that his hair gets the pillow wet. She pulls her shirt off so that she’s just in a slightly askew bikini top and climbs over him. “Give me your hands.”

He does but pushes back when she wants to lead them towards the bedposts. “Slow down a bit?”

“Oh, now you want to slow down?”, she asks, letting him touch the muscles of her abdomen, the scar on her left. “You really don’t know what you want, do you?”

“I’m still less kinky than you assume,” he replies, snaking his right hand up to her shoulder. “Come here?”

She snorts, leaning down to kiss him. He slips two fingers beneath her bikini top, the skin under the wet garment cool. She groans when he flicks the nipple between his fingers and tries to push the top off without moving away from his lips. He grins, rocking his hips up against her. Her arms prevent her from falling forward, which is kind of sad actually. She gasps anyway, flinging the flimsy bikini top across the room. He continues playing with her nipple, but sneaks the left hand down her front, feeling around for her clitoris. She pushes her wet hair behind her ears without breaking the kiss. He manages to slip his fingers far enough between them to get to the right spot and he’s not even rubbing for five seconds before she rips both of his hands away, gasping, and pushes his wrists forcefully to the bedposts. “Fuck. No, I’m sitting on your face now.”

He grins, pushing his hips up again while she fastens the zip ties. “Whatever you want, doll.”

“I want you to shut up,” she hisses, impatiently biting her lower lip. “How about you do that?”

“You’re making me anyway in a minute, so why bother,” he says, but loses the thought, or all thoughts, when she sits up on her knees and undoes the knots left and right that he’s imagined undoing all day. She grins at his face and drops the bikini bottom next to the bed.

She plays with the still red curls for a second before pushing his wet hair off his forehead and leaning forward to kiss him. “Mhm. Much better.”

Her knees shuffle forward until she’s above him, but he keeps looking at her face. She smiles, genuinely, and pulls on his hair so he has to crane his neck a little bit. “Well, now, lover boy. Get to it.”

He snorts, lifting his chin with a struggle. “Well, you’ll need to get down here first.”

He has more than a little thing for her thighs, as he remembers when watching the muscles there stretch and pull while she lowers herself onto his face. He’s so distracted that she bumps against his nose. She snorts while his tongue darts out to taste the salt water on her skin. He makes her drop it by flicking the tip of his tongue against her clit.

He actually feels more in control now than before. Now he can make her gasp, grab onto the headboard or even come if he just does the right things with his mouth. As much as she might rock her hips, she’s still depending on him for the finer movements. She’s at his mercy for her pleasure. He groans thinking about that.

She moans, the movement of her hips intensifying, and then she slips down just a little bit and suddenly he’s powerless again while she rubs against his chin. His hands tighten into fists because he has to listen to her orgasming and can’t even  _ feel  _ her contractions. And he can’t do anything about it, short of ripping the zip ties. She moves back, breathing heavily, and he thanks her by going easy on her while she’s still sensitive. He can hear her high-pitched noises and picks up the pace a bit. It doesn’t seem like she has any intent of moving away again, so he eats her out as if he had been doing it for hours, without any restraint or shame. She’s constricting around his tongue in no time.

He coaxes one more orgasm out of her clitoris and then two more by pushing his tongue in and out of her vagina before her quivering thighs move down again. He wants to wipe his face and gets stopped by the zip tie. She’s still trying to catch her breath and to not fall over, but she’s also pulling with shaking fingers at his swimming trunks already. “Fuck. I really need your dick inside of me.”

The muscles in his abdomen tighten. He watches her take off his trunks and drop them beside the bed, then shuffle her knees up next to his hips again. When she leans forward for a quick kiss before sinking down on him, he snaps the zip ties, grabs her shoulders and pushes her to the side, slipping over her before she can even move or turn around. His weight presses her whole body into mattress. “Say that again,” he commands with a rough voice, his breath hitting her ear.

“I want your dick inside of me right now,” she repeats without hesitation. He didn’t expect her to fold so easily, but this is fucked out Nat, Nat after five orgasms, Nat who is finally not afraid to admit to what she wants. Nat who can abandon control.

“What do you want?” he asks again, pushing her thighs together, the tip of his cock sliding against them.

Natasha groans and drops her forehead onto the mattress. “Fuck me. Please.”

She moans at just the feeling of his hard length against her ass, before he’s even pushing into her. “I want you to feel every inch,” he breathes into her ear. “Every push.”

“I always feel every push,” she mutters, her face buried in her crossed arms. “Fuck.”

She’s not even telling him to get the fuck on with it. He carefully, slowly pushes into her, the tightness making it all the more delicious. She’s whimpering at every millimeter until he’s not completely sure anymore she’s not in pain. “Feels good?” he manages.

“Glorious,” she breathes before biting down on her forearm, which doesn’t keep her from whimpering at all.

He stops before he’s even all the way inside of her because it’s too much, dropping his forehead on her shoulder blades. She sighs. Gosh, this feels way too good. He might just come already if he makes even the tiniest move. She’s still sighing, somehow, getting more and more intense, and he realizes he must be pressing into her just right, right now, and he couldn’t move even if he wanted to, and she moans, her shoulder blades arching up, he tries to ready himself, mentally, and suddenly it goes through her, she throws her head back, almost hitting his face, and that’s probably the only reason he doesn’t come then and there as she tightens even more around him. She buries her head in her arms, moaning through it, and he keeps as still as if frozen, trying desperately not to tip over.

She stops constricting at some point, some point he can’t believe he made it to. He groans, reaching around her to cup her breast. She turns her head to the side, grinning with her eyes closed. He cups the other breast with his left hand as well, for good measure.

She doesn’t push it, but after a minute he feels ready to move again, so he pushes all the way into her, until his hip bones dig into her ass and then some. She just lies there and takes him in, millimeter by millimeter, totally blissed out. He snorts and lightly slaps her ass with his right.

She doesn’t jolt, but she turns her head to the other side with a kind of annoyed expression. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t like that?” he asks, pulling her hips up a bit so he can push into her even deeper.

“You might,” she replies, worrying at her bottom lip. “I don’t.”

“I don’t either,” he admits, stopping again to collect himself for a moment.

“Then why the fuck did you do it?” she asks but is interrupted by her own groan when he pulls back slowly and pushes into her just as slowly.

He manages a grin, even though she can’t even see that. “Tell me how that feels.”

Natasha squirms, pushing her ass up, the muscles in her shoulders and arms tightening. “Every inch,” she groans. “Fuck.”

He really couldn’t move faster, even if he wanted to. They’re both close enough to the brink as it is. He does it as fast as he can, which is really fucking slow because she is just  _ so  _ tight. She doesn’t mind at all, judging from her face and her sounds.

He grins and reaches up to push the hair out of her neck so he can kiss and bite it, but she startles when the metal touches her skin, her shoulders shoot up to her ears, her neck strains away from him, and he immediately recoils, suddenly all the images, the memories of choking her back at the front of his mind, the feel of her fragile windpipe beneath the unforgiving metal, and he stares in horror and can’t do anything.

“Please don’t stop,” she sighs, without the tension around her neck, but he  _ can’t _ , he really, really  _ can’t _ , and when he forces himself to move anyway, he realizes his erection went out of the window the moment the thought of choking her hit him. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. This is taking such a turn, and he didn’t want anything of it.

She sighs again when he pulls out of her, just the physicality of it, she probably doesn’t even feel that he’s not hard anymore, with being so tight. She turns on her side, though, and he’s just there on all fours, not knowing what to do or where to go, the bliss still on her face making him nauseous. At the sight of him, she forces it down very quickly. “It’s okay. Come here. It’s okay.”

He crawls up next to her, buries his face in her chest and starts sobbing. He choked her, he shot her,  _ twice _ , and here he is thinking he has any right to want to fuck her. She’s stroking the back of his head, the other arm wrapped around his back, humming something soothing, and he curls up as much as he can, makes himself as small as possible. The lingering scent of her arousal makes him sick.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into her skin, choked-up. “I’m so sorry.”

She shushes him softly, pulling his head even closer to her, careful that he can still breathe. Not that he would mind. After everything, getting suffocated by her breasts seems already like way more than he deserves.

She lays down on her back, pulling his head onto her, pushing one leg between his. He clings onto her like a baby, as if she would disappear if he just let go for a second. “I don’t deserve you,” he breathes.

“Oh, shut up,” she mutters, twirling his dark hair around her finger. “You were just doing what I wanted you to. You absolutely deserve that.”

He nods to himself, trying to breathe deeply, in and out. “Sorry I couldn’t do that. Finish that.”

“Yeah, well, shit happens,” she mutters, tracing lines on his back. “Especially to us.” She grins, pulling him a little closer. “And don’t worry, I’ll give you another chance at that.”

He smiles weakly. He knows she’d prefer if he did something right now, he can smell it, no matter how much she tries to hide it. But he really can’t, so he’ll have to settle for next time. “Liked that?”

“I’m not buttering you up unless I get something for it,” she replies cheekily. “No, really, I never… I’ve never done that, right? Submit to you so much. It’s- I shouldn’t have startled.”

“Were you-” He sighs. “Scared?”

“Of you? No,” she replies immediately, starting to chew on her bottom lip. “Maybe? In the back of my head, in an erotic way? Like, I felt like I would have let you do stuff to me that… I don’t know.”

“What stuff?” he asks. “Not slapping your ass, apparently.”

She snorts. “Yeah, not that. I wanted you to be… ruthless. To take what you want. And I would have let you, and loved it.”

“Oh, I did that,” he replies. “Pushing you around and everything. Until… well.”

“You’ll go through with it next time,” she assures him, flipping on the side so that her whole body, from her calves over her ass to her shoulders, molds against him perfectly. “Mhm. I should do that to you.”

“You already tied me up twice,” he remarks dryly.

She grins. “Oh, but I was being nice. Like, you wanted me to beg, right? I’ll make you beg.”

His stomach flutters. He pulls her hips against him. “And you say you’re not kinky.”

“I never said that,” she shoots back, wiggling her ass. “And you’re the one who’s throbbing at every sentence.”

“That’s just being pressed against your ass like that,” he claims.

She snorts. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that, lover boy.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve doesn't want spy training. Sam learned something. Bucky helps Natasha be uncomfortable.

“Ohoh,” Steve comments, pulling up a chair. “The tea again? That bad?”

Natasha snorts without looking up. “Have you considered that I just like tea?”

“I know you do,” Steve replies. “But you always save that special tea for when it’s bad.”

Natasha sighs. “Mhm. Maybe I do.”

“What happened?” Steve asks again.

“It’s not-” Natasha sighs again. “Look, I- he touched my neck, with his metal arm. And I fucking  _ recoiled _ .”

“I’m sure he took that well,” Steve remarks.

“Yeah, no, not at all,” Natasha agrees. “Anyway, there’s no point in talking about it. I’m just not going to do that next time.”

“Really, you can just turn that off?” Steve questions. “Just like that?”

“Well, I hope so,” Natasha replies. “Because it robbed me of some pretty darn amazing sex, and I’m not going to let that happen again.”

“Oh Je-” Steve barely catches himself. “You were…?”

“Fucking,” Natasha mutters and sips her tea. “Yes.”

“And then?” Steve continues.

“And then we weren’t,” Natasha replies simply. “But you and Sam finally fucked, so there’s that, I guess?”

“How the hell do you know that?” Steve asks.

Natasha smiles. “Don’t say that, that confirms it. Say  _ what makes you think that _ .”

Steve snorts. “You know, not everybody wants spy training all the time.”

“But  _ why _ ?” Natasha questions. “It’s so useful.”

Steve sighs. “There’s really no helping you, is there?”

“Hey, if you really want to help,” Natasha suggests. “Tell your buddy I’m not at all done with fucking him, so we should continue that when he’s ready.”

“First of all, stop being gross,” Steve replies, trying not to blush. “Secondly, just tell him yourself. You’re sleeping in one bed! Or, wait, you moved them apart again, didn’t you?”

“We never moved them together,” Natasha explains. “When he wants to sleep in my bed, he comes over. When I get nervous and kick him out, he goes back to his. So, unless he doesn’t come or I throw him out right away, we’re sleeping in one bed, yeah.”

“Why do you sleep in one bed when you could have two?” Steve asks, confused.

“I’m small, I don’t need much space,” Natasha replies. “Waaaait, you didn’t move yours together either.”

Steve sighs. Sometimes, it’s annoying that she always knows everything. “I don’t know. Just didn’t come up.”

Natasha grins. “You need a hand moving that heavy, heavy bed a few feet, you tell me.”

* * *

 

“Yeah, sure,” Sam agrees. “Let’s move it. Then you don’t have to come over anymore to make sure I didn’t turn to dust.”

Steve tries not to blush. “I kind of stopped thinking about that.”

Sam fake-gasps. “But, if you’re not living in constant fear of losing me, how will I know you still love me?”

Steve rolls his eyes and hugs him. “I’ll just tell you then.”

“Yeah, ok, that works,” Sam agrees, wrapping his arms around Steve. “You found the solution, Cap.”

Steve snorts. “Come on. Stop that.”

Sam grins. “Or what?”

Steve sighs. “Oh, we’re doing that again?”

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but I’m doing that, yes,” Sam acknowledges. “Got me pretty much where I wanted to be last time.”

“Shouldn’t have taught you that,” Steve sighs, letting go. “Come on. Let’s move the bed.”

* * *

“Nat,” Bucky asks, lifting the sheets again to check. “Why are you naked?”

“I don’t know, do you have a problem with it?” Natasha asks right back, not putting her book down.

“Not particularly, but I was intending to catch some shut-eye before you rudely kick me out,” Bucky replies. “Is it that warm or what is it?”

“No, I just thought-” Natasha sighs. “Forget about it.”

Bucky grins, shuffling closer until he’s pressed against her and putting his right hand on her stomach. “Kinda hard to ignore, you know.”

Natasha snorts, putting the book down. “Well, I just thought it might help me if- I wanted to feel your metal arm around me while sleeping.”

“Nat?” Bucky prompts.

“Yes?” Natasha asks.

“How about you put the book away altogether?” Bucky suggests.

“Excellent idea.” Natasha carefully pulls the thread between the pages, closes the book and puts it next to her on the floor. “Well then. Now that that’s away…”

She’s above him in a flash, kissing him like she thought about it for a long time. He’s so surprised at the suddenness that he’s barely keeping up with her devouring. When she breaks away, she’s already breathless. “Turn your arm on.”

He probably misheard that, dizzy and all, and maybe quite distracted with the sight of her breasts above him. “Sorry?”

“The hologram,” she replies, feeling around his metal shoulder. “Turn it on.”

He knows what she wants him to do, beyond simply pressing a button, which he also does. She watches with some suppressed horror as the particles fly into their places, creating an almost perfect illusion.

He waits until she’s recovered from that expression, then flips them both over and traces a finger of his left over her breast. She shudders. She is used to skin and to metal, but he knows this feels different, trying to be like skin, but not getting  _ quite  _ there, in a way that makes one’s hairs stand. She’s uncomfortable. She wants to be uncomfortable. He carefully touches her cheek.

“Not the neck,” she whispers, and he almost snorts. Yeah, no, he doesn’t need that again, ever. He briefly touches her nose before smoothing her eyebrow. The chasteness feels right, but he can’t ignore the fact that she’s naked, and under him, forever. He skips her neck and goes straight to the soft skin of her breast.

“More?” he asks, carefully cupping her breast, because he doesn’t know how far she wants to push this, how uncomfortable she can take being.

She nods, decisively, and he rolls her nipple between his fingers, which makes her gasp and push her breast up, but then she retreats and presses her back flat to the mattress. She’s experiencing lust but feels uncomfortable as well, like something is wrong with it, and she doesn’t hide any of her going back and forth between the two. He watches in fascination and pinches her nipple again.

The tension doesn’t go away, no matter how long he plays with her breasts, so he starts drawing lines on her stomach. He avoids the scar because he doesn’t want to get his issues into it, this is about her, and he’s catering to what she wants and thinks she needs. He puts his right hand over her shoulder and leans up, holding his left thumb in front of her mouth. She looks at it with reluctance and some disgust. “You had no problem sucking on it when it was metal,” he reminds her, wiggling his thumb. Which is true, because he was the one who did, but they’re not dealing with his issues now, and he’ll use everything that might help her, no matter his feelings.

She opens her mouth hesitantly and he places his thumb on her lower lip, not pushing it further. Her tongue eventually darts out, tentatively flicking against the tip of his finger. She sucks him in after that but releases him soon. He wonders what it tastes like. No sweat, no saltiness. He moves down her body, placing the wet thumb on her clitoris. Her thighs tighten but she resists the urge to clamp them together. He rubs over her clitoris and her hips do a half-aborted rolling motion. She hides her eyes behind her hand.

He puts his middle finger in his mouth. It’s a weird taste, a bit of metal, a bit of rubber. No wonder she didn’t like it. He carefully feels around her entrance, then slides the first knuckle in slowly because she is not particularly wet and hurting her is not the point. Her hips recoil. “You’re gonna-”

“Shhh,” he interrupts, pushing the next knuckle in. His hand is gonna be fine, he just needs to wash it before turning off the hologram. “Do you want me to stop?”

He waits patiently until she shakes her head, not moving his finger. Well, good to go then. He crooks the finger up and she tenses, probably the discomfort but could also be the arousal. He’ll push her to the second anyway. He slides the finger all the way in, burying it as deep as possible, then crooks it towards where he knows the good spot to be. She moans, starting to pluck at her right breast. She probably can’t even feel the difference anymore, that deep inside of her, just some pressure at the right spot.

He starts rubbing his thumb over her clit again, where she definitely feels the exact texture, and with the finger hooked inside of her at the same time, she groans deeply. “Wanna come?” he asks with amusement.

“Of course,” she replies without hesitation, not taking the hand off her eyes. “Why the fuck do you ask?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bucky remarks lightly, working his thumb. “Seemed more therapeutic than sexual.”

Nat groans, either in exasperation or lust or both. “Get your fucking head back in the game and do something.”

He grins. “Okay. Something?”

“I swear to God,” Natasha sighs, rocking her hips herself. “Don’t make me make you.”

“But maybe I want that,” Bucky suggests, rubbing faster with his thumb.

Natasha moans. “Too bad. Just get me off already.”

He shakes his head in amusement, starting to move the thumb and the middle finger in tandem. She relaxes like some pressure has been relieved and comes, moaning but not screaming, not long after.

He offers the middle finger to her to lick. “Done? Want a reward now?”

She takes his wrist and starts licking his finger clean. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” he replies. “What do you want?”

She sucks him all the way in, which postpones her answer. “Fuck me from behind again?”

“Wow,” he remarks, retrieving his now clean finger and wiping it on the sheet. “Thought you only wanted that, or only asked for that, when being totally fucked out.”

“Don’t slutshame me,” Nat returns. “You’re gonna do it or not?”

“I’m not slutshaming you!” Bucky claims, pulling on her right hip to turn her over. “Really. I was just saying you are always afraid to ask for what you want.”

“Oh, do I need to spell it out for you,” Natasha mutters, laying down on her stomach and crossing her arms in front of her head. “Bury your dick deep inside of me. Screw me. Hard.”

He kind of likes her saying it. “Like that or on your knees?”

She thinks about it for a second, then pushes herself up. He positions himself at her entrance, nosing her shoulder, then takes her hip with his right and pulls her back against him. “Shit,” she gasps. “Slow down.”

He stops. She’s not quite as tight as when he pressed her thighs together, but still. This is not going to last. Not at all. She rocks her hips back testingly. “Okay. Go on.”

He groans, putting his head on her shoulder. “Need a second as well.”

She grins, turning her head. “Oh, wow. You’re bad at that.”

He snorts, slapping her ass. “Stop insulting me. Especially when you want something from me, or from my dick.”

“Okay, okay,” she retreats, still smug though. “You don’t need to worry, your abilities in eating me out make up for that easily.”

He snaps his hips forward, just to shut her up. He’s dizzy already, the corners of his vision closing in. He could try to draw it out, but that would mean long pauses and slow movements and that wouldn’t do her any favor, just frustrate her. Or he could do it fast and hope that she comes before he does and be done for in an embarrassingly short period of time. He groans. “Fast or slow?”

“Fast,” she replies without hesitation. He sighs inwardly before grabbing her hips and slamming into her. It’s a wild ride and he can barely keep track of her moans, he can’t move anything except his hips, he can’t control the tightening of his hands on her hips. It’s way too hot. He tries to stop when he feels like he’s about to come, to take a small break, but it’s already too late and his hands have a death-like grip on her hips and his seed is filling her up. He closes his eyes and tries not to drop dead on top of her.

She settles on her stomach when he collapses and he’s grateful for that and also hopes he isn’t crushing her, but he really can’t move. He wouldn’t trust his sense of time for shit, but he probably didn’t even fuck her for a whole minute. Which is embarrassing. She turns her head to the other side. “Hate to say it, but that wasn’t very satisfying.”

He huffs. “I really, really can’t right now. Take care of that yourself if you have to.”

She sighs but slips an arm underneath herself, despite him weighing her down. “You know what would be perfect? I start out on top of you, or you on top of me, and after I’ve come a few times and it doesn’t take much at all anymore to push me over, you flip me over and do what just did.”

“Are you fantasizing about me while I’m still inside of you?” he asks. “Darling, I love you.”

He startles when her finger tips touch his sensitive dick. She moves them away as soon as she has gathered enough wetness to rub her clitoris. “Well, you can slip out if you want to.”

A sigh spills from her lips. She still feels great. “No intention of leaving,” he replies.

He feels the movements of her hand and the resulting movements of her hip. He hears her sighs getting longer. He startles again when she clenches slightly around him. “Or you just rub my clit, from behind,” she breathes. “Before or while fucking me, don’t care. If you can do that without falling over.”

“Not sure,” he replies with amusement. He could listen to her all day. She clenches around him again, this time harder. He groans. “God, is that what it feels like when I rub your clit too hard?”

“Really can’t compare,” she gasps, moving her hand faster until she groans and stills, her vagina trying to suck him in deeper.

He moves her hair out of her face, with his right. “Hope you’re satisfied now.”

She grins, eyes closed. “Darling, I come so much every other time, don’t worry about it.”

“All right,” he remarks. “But why not  _ more _ ?”

She snorts. “You’re unbelievable. Come on, get out of me, this whole thing is starting to hurt my back.”


	17. Chapter 17

Steve can’t sleep. He’s not used to not sleeping alone. Sam’s breathing is really loud, now that it’s right next to him. Once in a while, he starts snoring. Steve keeps turning from side to side.

He eventually gives up. He’s not going to sleep. He doesn’t really need to sleep. He turns towards Sam and snuggles closer, wrapping an arm around him. Sam’s nose scrunches up but he doesn’t wake up. Steve grins and kisses Sam’s forehead, nose, cheeks. Sam’s mouth opens, letting out a sigh. Maybe he’s a little awake. Steve strokes his shoulder. Sam snuggles closer, unconsciously starting to ruck his hips.

Steve blushes. Gosh, he hopes Sam is not awake. He lets go carefully and moves back to his side of the bed. Sam’s mouth drops open again and Steve tries to be totally quiet, but Sam’s eyes flutter open anyway. Great. Steve hopes it’s dark enough.

Sam blinks twice, then grins. “Where you going, babe?”

“Didn’t want to wake you,” Steve replies, which is not a lie.

Sam shuffles over the divide into Steve’s bed. “No, no, no problem.” He yawns. “Come on, I wanna cuddle.”

Steve sighs and puts his arm around him again, still trying to keep some distance. Sam puts Steve’s hand on his hip and starts kissing Steve’s shoulder and arm. Steve watches with fascination. Sam eventually turns around, molding against Steve’s body, pulling his arm in front of his chest, and seemingly falls asleep again.

Steve waits. Sam is not sleeping, he’s pretty sure about that. He couldn’t tell why though. Doesn’t matter, actually. He pushes his hips against Sam’s ass.

Sam hums, without opening his eyes, and turns his head slightly, fitting himself to Steve’s movements. Steve leans forward to kiss him, pulling Sam’s hips back. Sam gasps into his mouth. Steve’s fingers dig into Sam’s hips. He can’t stop snapping his hips forwards.

Sam peels Steve’s fingers away. Steve stops, confused. “Hey babe,” Sam says. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve replies, still confused when Sam kisses him and slips out through the mosquito nets. He watches him go to the bathroom, then drops on his back and sighs, trying to ignore his erection.

Sam comes back eventually, crawling over Steve’s body and kissing him. He has some stuff in his hand, one of which looks like a condom. He drops it to pull Steve’s head into the kiss. Steve breathes a sigh of relief, trying to push himself up on his elbows, but Sam grins and pushes him back down. Steve stares at the ceiling while Sam kisses down his neck and his chest, crumpling the sheets in his fists. Sam moves back up again and sits down on Steve’s lap. Steve starts pulling impatiently at Sam’s boxers. Sam grins. “Babe, you always go from shy to impatient really quick.”

“So what,” Steve replies, pulling on the waistband until it snaps back. “Can you take that off?”

“I could,” Sam acknowledges, getting up on his knees. “And since you ask so nicely…”

Steve lifts his hips as well to push his underwear down, bumping into Sam who almost topples over. Sam snorts. “Hey, hey. Just wait a sec.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Steve lies still and watches Sam undress. “You know, I wouldn’t have minded you falling on top of me.”

Sam snorts. “Yeah, I don’t need to knock my head on your rock-hard abs or something. Which reminds me…”

He slips down Steve’s body again to lick and bite Steve’s abs. Steve groans, pushing his stomach up. Sam grins, moving to sit on Steve’s lap again, his dick rubbing over Steve’s abs. “Hey babe. Do you want to do something for me or should I do it myself?”

“What?” Steve asks, getting kind of nervous again.

Sam feels around the bed until he finds a small container of Vaseline to hold up. “That. Ever done that?”

Steve shakes his head. “No.”

“Okay, I’ll do that then,” Sam decides, opening the container. “Just don’t get impatient again.”

Steve watches him. “Where did you even get that?”

Sam snorts, gathering some Vaseline on his fingers. “Oh. Nat gave it to me.”

“Nat gave it to you?” Steve repeats, horrified.

“Well, I assume it didn’t show up in my sponge bag on its own,” Sam remarks, getting up on his knees. “I mean, she didn’t give it to me personally.”

“But where did she get it?” Steve asks again. “She hasn’t gone shopping in quite a while.”

“Well, either that’s why her suitcase was so fucking big, because she prepared for all eventualities,” Sam suggests, licking his lips. “Or she packed it for herself. Don’t worry, it was factory-sealed.”

Steve groans, closing his eyes. “Don’t make me think about that.”

Sam grins. “You know plenty of people use Vaseline for skin care, right?”

“I’m going to go with that,” Steve announces. “And the condoms?”

Sam bites his lip. “Oh. I packed those.”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to grin. “Did you? What did you plan to use them for?”

Sam groans, though that might be due to what his fingers are doing. “Don’t embarrass me.”

“Oh, but you get to?” Steve remarks, feeling around for the condom package.

Sam puts his free hand on Steve’s chest, leaning forward with his eyes closed, groaning. “Fuck. Can’t debate right now.”

Steve touches his shoulder, then rips the condom package open and rolls it on. “Feels good?”

“Oh boy, I’ll show you sometime,” Sam mutters before opening his eyes at the sound of rubber. “Oh, you do know how to handle that?”

Steve blushes but he can’t take his hands away right now. “Of course. Shut up.”

“Sharon, huh?” Sam remarks, scissoring his fingers again. “Okay, I think I’m ready.”

“You sure?” Steve asks, kind of nervously.

“Just don’t rush it,” Sam advises, wiping his hand on his thigh. He leans forward to kiss Steve and snakes a hand down to hold Steve’s dick and carefully, slowly lowers himself.

Sam must have done a good job preparing, because it goes pretty smoothly. Steve sighs at the feeling. “Doesn’t hurt?”

“I’d tell you, stop worrying,” Sam replies, chewing on his lower lip. “Fuck, babe, you feel amazing.”

Steve groans. “Tell me when I can move.”

“Being impatient again?” Sam asks with amusement. “Just wait a second.”

Steve sighs, closing his eyes to focus on the feeling. Sam carefully wriggles himself deeper. “How’s that feel?”

“Great,” Steve replies naturally. “Why?”

Sam smirks, stroking his shoulder. “Well, your first time, right?”

Steve groans. “Just let me move, goddamnit.”

The smirk turns into a grin. “Ah. Okay. Careful.”

Steve snaps his hips up before the last word even registers, causing Sam to topple over and almost knock his head against Steve’s jaw. Steve starts worrying immediately that he’s hurt but Sam starts giggling instead. “Oh my. If that’s careful…”

Steve sighs, running his hands over Sam’s back. “You wanna move?”

“Why, yes, thanks for asking,” Sam replies, starting to rock his hips excruciatingly slow. “I really wanna take my time, you know? You can take over later.”

The friction curses through Steve’s stomach and thighs, small still, but it's adding up every second. God, he never wants to stop. He wants Sam to never stop. Sam's eyes are closed and he's developing a thin sheen on his forehead, reflecting the moonlight from outside. So beautiful.

He realizes Sam's dick is rubbing against his abdomen, drooling precum, and while Sam rocks himself up and down, Steve wraps his hand around it. Sam makes a high-pitched, desperate noise. “Oh, babe, I- if you do that, it's going to be over real quick.”

“Can't do this forever either,” Steve gasps. Though he'd want to, he'd really really want to. “When you said I could take over later… what exactly did you mean?”

Sam puts a hand on his wrist so he stops rubbing his cock, which probably facilitates forming a sentence. “Whatever you want. Fuck up into me, flip us over, or from behind. Your choice.”

Steve twitches inside of him. Unmistakably. “Tell me when.”

Sam grins, fighting to keep his eyelids up. “Where's the fun if there's no surprise? But not yet.”

Steve groans, letting his head drop back and Sam do whatever feels good to him. It feels really good to Steve, too. He can only imagine how it would feel if he could do it _faster._

Sam bites his lip and makes one of those incredibly endearing noises again, rocking faster himself. It's nice watching him enjoy himself but probably not as nice as making him lose his mind. Steve slips his hands up his strong thighs. “That's right, baby. Enjoy it.”

Sam looks at him with a bit of confusion before the pleasure takes his face over again. Steve starts caressing his dick with just his fingertips and Sam groans, rocking more forward and backward than up and down, the tip hitting and smearing Steve's palm. “Gosh, babe, I- I never thought I'd get to do this.”

“Feels good?” Steve asks casually, wrapping his hand all the way around the tip. Sam mewls desperately. The muscles in Steve's stomach strain even harder. God, this is too much. He needs to do something. Sam looks totally blissed out already and not at all likely to object.

In a strike of boldness, Steve flips them over, careful that they don't roll off the bed. Sam squeaks. Steve fumbles his way back in, a little embarrassing, but then he can lean forward and kiss Sam who has his knees pulled up to his shoulders. Okay. Just a- no, no second. He snaps his hips against him. “Fuck, Sam, you feel good.”

Sam laughs shakily, interrupted by Steve's thrusts. “Fuck, I'm gonna come,” Steve groans. “Fuck. Hold on.”

“Hold on- what?!” Sam gasps. “What the hell are you talking?”

Bullshit, probably. Talking is bad. Doing is better. Steve steadies himself on the left arm and grabs Sam's dick with the other. Sam's eyes turn back in his head. “Shitshitshit. Yes. Yes, babe- fuck, I- don't stop, I'm going to come. Fuck, babe.”

Steve ducks in to kiss his neck, rubbing frantically with his hand, slowing his hips down a bit. “Can I keep going? After that?”

“Yes, yes,” Sam gasps. “Just- you should be close behind. Fuck, I- fuck, yes, fuck, babe, fuck, Steve- Steve!”

Steve groans as white cum covers Sam's dark skin, sticky and hot and _the smell_ , Jesus Christ, Sam sighs contentedly, relief clear on his face, and Steve drops the sticky hand and slams into him. “Yes, babe,” Sam whispers, grabbing onto Steve's hair. “Come on. Fill me up.”

Steve groans again. Feels good. Doesn't want to stop. Not just yet. Just chase it a little longer. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Sam replies, sounding almost supernaturally calm. “Love your dick. Come on, babe, give it to me.”

The sound of slapping skin is embarrassingly loud. Steve is not calm at all, thrusting into Sam at a frantic pace. It's going to be okay. He groans, burying his head in the crook of Sam's neck, and stops all of a sudden, pulsing everything out. Sam sighs again, stroking his back. Steve shudders, breaking a sweat, though he did that before, probably, and just didn't notice. His cock twitches and there's another spurt leaving him. Fuck.

Sam grabs his head and pulls him in for a kiss. His heart is beating like crazy. _Nothing_ exhausts him this much. “Babe?”

Steve looks at him with some difficulty. It's dark as well and all his senses are doing just the bare minimum because it's so fucking hot. He's so exhausted. Sam smirks. “You okay?”

“That was-” He struggles for words. Oh, how about no words. “Something.”

“Definitely something,” Sam agrees with amusement. “You know, you can wake me every night if it's going to be like that.”

 

* * *

 

“Mhm,” Bucky remarks. “See that?”

“See what?” Sam asks. “Blue skies and the endless sea?”

“No, it's flurry, just about there,” Bucky explains. “See that?”

“I can't see it either,” Steve adds. Natasha looks up from her book reluctantly.

“I'm pretty sure that's- you really can't see it?” Bucky probes. “I'm pretty sure it's Wakandan stealth tech. Used to see that all the time.”

Steve sits up. “Wait. Yeah, I see- yeah, it's kind of- flurry. Blurred.”

Sam snorts, grabbing his cocktail. “Well, that's going to be interesting.”

“There's a jet coming towards us?” Natasha asks. “What the hell could they want?”

The flurriness moves closer quickly. “We'll see,” Bucky states. “At that speed, they'll be here in no time.”

Steve shifts nervously. “Should we- get up? Do something?”

“Babe.” Sam gives him a look, even pushing his sunglasses down his nose. “Absolutely not.”

So, they don't get up while the jet lands on the beach. Natasha goes back to reading her book. Sam casually sips his cocktail. The stealth tech is turned off and suddenly, there's a Wakandan jet on the beach. Bucky raises an eyebrow.

King T'Challa emerges, instantly making them feel severely underdressed in their Hawaiian shirts. Two of the Dora Milaje follow him, looking around rather impressed. They could probably use a vacation as well. “Well,” T'Challa states. “I see you have been working on your tan.”

“In my case, that's mostly sunburn,” Steve replies. “What brings you here?”

“You do have it very nice here,” T'Challa remarks. “Unfortunately, you'll have to end your vacation. There's a problem and we need your help.”

“You can't be serious,” Natasha states incredulously. The two Dora Milaje have regained their composure and managed to suppress the longing looks. “I'm barely halfway through War and Peace.”

T'Challa snorts. “Well, finish it sometime else. There's a threat.”

“Just as it was getting comfortable,” Bucky mutters. “There's _always_ a threat.”

“Just get in the jet,” T'Challa repeats. “I'll fill you in on the way.”

Steve snorts. “Well, I'm more surprised we got to stay away for so long in the first place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! I finally finished it. Special thanks to patronellarose who commented on every single chapter- I probably wouldn't have pushed myself to get this chapter out if it weren't for you ;) So thank you, to everyone who read and commented! I hope you're not sad it's over ;)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17990102) by [Reshma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reshma/pseuds/Reshma)




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